


The Lupin Stories

by copperbadge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Humor, MWPP Era, PostWar, Trauma, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-02
Updated: 2006-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:26:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 99,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have written a lot of fanfic about Remus Lupin. Many of the one-shots are short and not of high quality; I decided it would be easier to store them all in one place. These are being copied over from an archive; sorry if updates keep popping up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Other Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is a separate story. Ratings will eventually range from G to hard NC-17. Warnings will go in the notes at the start of each chapter. 
> 
> Chapter 1 is G-rated, no warnings.

He never traveled under his own name. Not anymore.

After all, it wasn't as though he was well-known. Not like Harry, poor marked lad. Remus could blend in anywhere he liked. He'd often wondered if he shouldn't do just that; walk away from 12 Grimmauld Place, as if he were going off on another mission, catch a train, blend in, and never look back. 

Of course he had ties. There was Wolfsbane potion, for one thing, he needed that like an addict needs a fix. Snape knew it, too, never gave him more than a month's worth at a time. But he could brew it himself, had done so in the past, though the results were never as regular and reliable as Snape's. 

There was Harry, too. The lad needed someone to look to, now that his parents and his godfather were gone and Dumbledore, once his hero, was -- 

Slightly fallen?

Oh hell, but anyone would look out for Harry, Arthur or Kingsley or Tonks... 

Sometimes he was tempted. Sometimes he got as far as packing his bag. And then, usually, he remembered why he stayed. Because there was nowhere he could go that he wouldn't be found, sooner or later. By Dumbledore, the bastard, or more likely by Snape, who would revel in being cleverer than Remus Lupin. 

So he traveled whenever he could, on Order business, because it was almost as good. And of course not under his own name, because the Death Eaters knew who he was, and everyone else in the Wizarding world knew what he was.

"Sandwich, love?" someone asked him, and he looked up from his contemplation of his orders, into the smiling face of a Muggle, who was pushing a snack cart. He took the closest sandwich, gave her a few of the crumpled handful of bills that Dumbledore had pressed into his hand for travel expenses, and ate the thing absently. 

"You'll make yourself ill, eating egg salad from that cart," someone said. He looked up again, and was surprised to see a stranger standing at the edge of the train bench. 

"Haven't died yet," he replied, willing the man to go away.

"Mind if I sit?"

Remus' eyes followed the gesture to the bench across the table from him. "No....no, of course not," he said. 

"Name's Carver. And you are?"

"Richard. Richard Lucas," Remus said. He began clearing his books off the table, making room for Carver's (first or last? did it matter?) briefcase.

"You're a professor?" the man asked, picking up one of the books -- Roman Magic: Fiction or Faith? -- and examining it.

"Yes," Remus replied vaguely. Carver grinned at him. 

"Who do you get to cover your classes on full moons?"

Remus stared.

"Come now, you must have smelled it," Carver said blandly. "I smelled you."

"You...smelled...?"

"Oh, you're not wolfborn, I suppose. Then you wouldn't have."

Thoroughly bewildered, Remus took the book from him, setting it on a pile that he straightened with fussy neatness.

"I just thought we could talk," Carver said. "Truth is I've been following you every time you take the train, but..." he spread his hands. "Something always stopped me before. I don't often meet other -- "

"Mind!" Remus hissed. 

"It's a Muggle train, nobody cares. Nobody's listening. 'Richard'," Carver said with a laugh. "I suppose that's not your real name."

"Remus Lupin," he murmured.

"Closer," Carver nodded. Remus drew his eyebrows together. 

"That's my name," he said.

"No it's not." The other man's nostrils flared, and his eyes glinted yellow. "What's your real name? The one you feel in your blood when the moon's waxing full?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," the werewolf said, chuckling. "You know that humanity's just an alias. Wolf's our real form. The truest thing you can be. Pure instinct."

"I've had about enough instinct in my life, if it's all the same to you."

"Everything but the wolf is a sham."

"I prefer to look at it the other way round."

Carver narrowed his eyes. "They've tamed you."

Remus closed the last of his books, and looked up. "I've tamed myself," he growled softly. 

"Is that any better?"

"My name is Remus Lupin. My real name."

"Then why," asked Carver delicately, "Do you travel under another? If you're so proud to be tamed?"

Remus let a small growl out, and the other werewolf grinned.

"How tame are you?" he asked, in Remus' ear, as he stood. "Ask yourself that. Every day. How tame is the wolf?"

When he was gone, Remus felt his shoulders relax, the tightness in his stomach fade away. 

He would never run out on the Order, on Harry, on Dumbledore, on the Weasleys. Because he wasn't an animal.

He was Remus Lupin.


	2. The Impressionist Mechanism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What possesses a relatively sensible grown man to buy spine candles for a children's classroom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG.   
> Warnings: None.

Remus Lupin liked people. On the whole, he thought they were a good sort, but it wasn't just that he liked people because they were interesting. He liked the physical human body, the shape and strength of it, even though his body wasn't human anymore, not really. He liked watching people who talked with their hands, using gestures to emphasise words. He liked watching trained runners sprinting, and trained dancers dancing.

What he liked most was the shift and curve of the spine under the skin of a bare back, the way muscles rippled across it. Science classes, before Hogwarts, taught him that the spine was central to the nervous system, almost as important as the skull and brain. During one of his father's quests for a cure, Remus had learned a lot about the line of the spine and the way it affected the body's nerves, the way all muscles were interconnected, and how that connectedness altered during the transformation from man to beast. 

Vertebrae themselves were lovely, weren't they? A perfectly functional interlocking set of bones that were formed in beautiful abstract shapes, like a machine built by an impressionist artist. As a student, rambling through the wilderness around Hogwarts, he'd once found a nearly complete skeleton of an owl who'd met some sort of unfortunate end. He'd studied the spine a long time before respectfully kicking a bit of dirt over it as a burial.

When Professor McGonagall took him into Hogsmeade for his first shopping trip as a proper Hogwarts Professor, she pointed out that the candles in the Dark Arts classroom needed restocking. One of their first stops was at Illumos, the Hogsmeade candle shop, since electricity didn't work in the castle.

"Something properly eerie, I think," she said, as they drifted through the shelves of plain white pillars, specially designed dribbly-candles, divining tapers, trick tea-lights, and other charmed wax creations. "Dark Arts does have a reputation to maintain, after all."

"Hmm," he answered, unwilling to purchase frivolous dragon-shaped candles or ones that shot two feet of flame in the air, even on the Hogwarts supplies expense account.

"Black is always effective, I've found," she was saying, but something on the overstock shelf in the back caught his eye, and he slipped past a large cabinet full of grinning skulls and house-elf heads to pick up one of the cut-rate candles, running his fingers over the sinuous shape appreciatively.

"How about these, do you think?" he asked, turning to her and holding it up. She raised an eyebrow.

"No-one can deny they're appropriate," she said reluctantly, "but perhaps a little too macabre..."

"Oh, I don't think so," he answered. "There's lots of them and they'll last a long time, and it's a lovely shape, and anyway they're dead cheap. Look," he added, "the vertebrae are even marked, so you can tell which one you're looking at. Light source and anatomy lesson all in one."

He lit one with a pinch of his fingers and a flick of the wrist, and grinned at her over the flame. She smiled back, the indulgent, I've-been-sweet-talked smile she used to give him when he made jokes to get his mates out of trouble, back when he'd been her student. She blew out the flame, and gestured at the shelves.

"Have them sent up to the castle, then," she said, and he made his way to the till. "Don't dilly-dally, Lupin, you've more supplies to buy..."

The shopkeeper smiled at him and agreed to box up all their spine-candles and have them delivered to the Dark Arts Classroom, Hogwarts Castle, care of Professor Lupin.

Pleased with his first act as a proper Professor, he followed McGonagall out into the late-summer afternoon, and onwards towards the Scholars' Shop, where he could buy a pot of red ink for marking student essays with.


	3. Five Ways Sirius Black Didn't Lie Low At Lupins (And One Way He Did); PG, RL/SB Implied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does what it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

_Heat_

Remus Lupin turned off the heat in his flat.

He couldn't afford it, even on the savings from last year's Hogwarts job. Besides, he was a werewolf. Werewolves didn't get sick. Didn't get laid, either, although that was somewhat irrelevant. Point was, he didn't mind the cold, and as nobody else ever came to his flat, nobody else minded either.

He opened the door on a rainy and unusually chilly day in June, and was greeted with a blast of warm, heated air. 

"Hallo, Moony," Sirius Black said. "Hope you don't mind. Place was a bit chilly."

Remus Lupin smiled.

*** 

_Guests_

Remus Lupin fumbled with his housekeys momentarily, and Anna rested her chin on his shoulder patiently, giggling. They leaned against the door, hands wandering, the whiskey on their breaths mingling as they kissed.

"Stay," he said, and she nodded a dizzy, intoxicated agreement. 

A shadow rose up out of the darkness when he finally opened the door, and Remus drew his wand, instinctively.

"Hell of a way to greet an old friend, Moony," Sirius Black said, leaning in the foyer doorway. 

Anna screamed, and Sirius snapped "Obliviate!"

Anna woke the next morning, in her flat, with a peculiarly violent hangover.

***

_Purebred_

"What a lovely dog," said the woman, "and so obedient too!"

Remus stopped, after he'd passed her on the pavement. He allowed himself a minute of confusion. Then he turned.

Looking up at him was a sleek black dog, apparently a cross between a Newfoundland and a grizzly bear. 

"Is he a purebred?" the woman asked, touching Remus' arm. He started, and turned to regard her.

"Er...yes," he replied. "Extremely."

The dog sat, and lolled its tongue out. 

"There's no dogs allowed in the building, Lupin!" his landlady shouted, as Padfoot followed him up the stairs. He ignored her. 

***

_Relief_

Dumbledore said the key was under the mat. Lupin was in Wales. Sirius should make himself at home.

Sirius changed, furtively, and unlocked the door, shuffling inside quickly. He wasn't made for fugitive life. Especially when it came to empty flats that -- 

"I'd have let you in," said a voice. Sirius turned, startled. 

He wondered if he'd ever get used to the grey in Lupin's hair. "Dumbledore said you were gone."

"Hello to you too."

Sirius rubbed his face, and felt a hand on his wrist.

"Being here was more important," Remus said gently. "There's dinner. Come eat."

Sirius wept. 

***

_Change_

"Sirius is coming," Moody'd warned him. 

Remus wasn't sure what he'd expected, but perpetual Padfoot wasn't it.

"Sirius," he murmured, as the dog curled against him on the tattered couch. "I'd like to hear your voice."

A doggy yawn.

"What's wrong? Why won't you change?"

A cold nose under his hand begged for pets. Remus scratched his neck, and Padfoot scrambled closer, until they were tangled together, somewhat uncomfortably -- Remus felt claws in bad places.

Still, he buried his face in Padfoot's thick fur, and whispered, "I love you."

The air shifted. 

"I love you too," Sirius answered, softly. 

***

_Reality_

There'd been an owl that Sirius was coming. Remus wasn't sure what right Dumbledore had to order him to shelter a fugitive, but then he wouldn't have turned Sirius from his door anyway. 

It was a depressing little flat, but he didn't reckon Sirius would mind, and he was right; all Sirius wanted was a wash, and something for his bleeding hands and feet, where he'd worn the pads of his paws raw in his travels. 

Remus did what he could for the wounds, and showed him where the towels were, and made tea while the shower ran.

Anticlimactic, really.


	4. Ash, Feather, and Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three ways of looking at Remus Lupin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

I. Molly

For a while, after that horrible night -- there were only a few, mind you, who knew it for what it was, or called it so -- he stopped. 

That's all. Stopped.

Didn't eat unless you put food in front of him, didn't drink unless you put a cup in his hands. Didn't speak unless spoken to and then only if a reply was required. He just...drifted.

I worried about him. Arthur and I did for him, in our own way; he came to stay with us for a while, looked after Ron and the twins. Gracious, I don't know what I would have done, the twins were in their terrible twos -- it was good to have another pair of hands around. I doubt they'd remember him from back then, any of the children. He had that way, you know, of blending into the background.

But I worried. We both did. You could see it in his eyes. Most of the time they settled on whatever was to hand, and examined things -- clocks, plates, whatever happened to be about. It's just that sometimes...well, you have to understand, everyone was celebrating, everyone was toasting to the Boy Who Lived and cursing the name of Sirius Black. He was bitter, I believe. Well, who wouldn't be, nobody really seemed to remember James and Lily, they only thought about Harry. Once Sirius was in Azkaban they forgot about him too, didn't they? And Peter was just a medal on his mum's wall, and a finger in a box.

I don't think any of us know what snapped him out of it. I remember it though. We were having a bit of a do, you know, the old Order -- Arthur and I weren't full members, with the children Dumbledore wouldn't allow it, but we were symathetic, and after You-Know-Who fell...

Remus was minding the twins, outside, and Arthur was helping clean up after the dinner, taking down the old picnic tables. Percy must have been about four, maybe five, and he was helping with Ron -- such a good boy, Percy, even when he was small -- so I was having a bit of a rest. 

I believe, that one time, Severus was there too. He couldn't come to the Order meetings back...before. He was all right once You-Know-Who was out of power. At any rate, I doubt they had ever got on at school, but Severus went right up to him, over in a corner of the yard with the twins, and had a few words. He had something in his hand -- I do believe he was showing him a remembrall, or something similar. Some sort of child's toy, anyway.

I remember thinking, with Severus crouched down next to him and the twins pulling at his sleeves, that's the first time I've seen Remus smile since it happened. 

After that he seemed to mend -- almost as if he was just waiting for the right moment. He didn't stay around very long, two or three days at most. We got postcards, of course, from wherever he went, and he traveled a good deal. I don't think he put on an ounce of weight, ever, and he looked downright awful when he came back to England for the Hogwarts job, but at least he was there -- at least he was our Remus, you know, and not some poor dead-eyed boy who'd lost all his friends at once. 

These last two years, he'd been positively glowing; he was always a likeable child, but he'd been a quiet man and it was good to see him creep out of that shell, a bit. We always liked having him up the Burrow for dinner. He was a great hit with the children, especially Harry and Ron, of course, but I think Bill liked him quite a lot, too. 

After Sirius died...well. I was terribly afraid we'd lose him again. I even spoke to Severus about it, but you know him, he doesn't take human frailty into account. He just said that Remus was a grown man and if he did choose to stop eating or talking we ought to let him starve in silence.

He didn't, though. Once in a while you can see that same dead look in his eyes, but it's not taken him over like it did last time. He still works, he still talks and sometimes even makes jokes. But there's those moments...

And then there are others, when you would think he had a fever -- when instead of the flat hopelessness there's some kind of angry flame. It frightens me more. It makes me worry about what Remus would do if someone pushed him far enough. It's the same thing I see in Harry, once in a while; he's just a boy, and he's had so much taken from him. 

I do worry about them. But what can you do? Take them in, love them, feed them. That's all. Wait for time to sort these things out. I do think Remus ought to let Harry come along with him on one of his trips, some summer; do the lad a world of good, and who knows, maybe Remus, too.

Until then, all you can do is love them, and hope it's enough.

The world is very old and nothing is.  
Be still. Thou foolish thing, thou canst not wake,  
Nor thy tears wedge thy soldered lips apart,  
But patter in the darkness of thy heart.

***

II. Severus

I cannot pretend to know how he felt, nor do I wish to. My own problems are enough to bear, thank you quite kindly; I find that to not only have been a Death Eater, but to have been a bad and traitorous one -- in other words, to have failed even at being evil -- is sometimes more of a stain on one's character than having been evil in the first place. 

I was not allowed to attend Order meetings before the fall of Voldemort and I had no wish to. I was unaware of most of the Order's membership until the days following his fall, and even then was not ever a part of that circle. People I had called my friends had killed the people the Order called family. They had lost sons, daughters, brothers, wives, fathers, that I had never even known. 

What intrigued me, when I was finally brought to meet these people, was the sheer joy they brought to everything. Their losses seemed not to matter to them in the slightest as they met around dinner tables or drinks in the pub. 

It was many years before I realised the grief was too deep, too all-consuming, to be allowed let in at these functions. 

There seemed to be only one person who was so unbearably touched by the last horrible night, as if he carried the pain and loss of all of the Order on his shoulders alone. I had never liked him at school, found him melodramatic and spineless, but now he seemed the physical symbol of their suffering, all of them, and it mocked me. 

That this one man, with his already-greying hair and lined face and flat, emotionless eyes, should be a living symbol of things I helped to cause, was unbearable. I could not look him in the eye, could not speak to him (and he never spoke, in those days, unless required by politeness or necessity). I avoided dining at the Weasley household because he was there, caring for their brats and in turn being cared for by Weasley, who has always had more generosity than common sense. 

I wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled, slap him, anything to be rid of those horrible empty-eyed glances he would make my way, on the few occasions our meeting was unavoidable. I was and am too proud to apologise, to say that there was any part of his suffereing which was my fault, because I turned away. I left the darkness and some thanks I got for it. 

I had heard Dumbledore saying that the boy -- he was my age, but that was always their way with him -- had lost four of his closest friends in the space of a few hours, and to give him time. After all, whom did he have to live for now? Let him care for the children, and maybe he would find something in them that would break him out of his little prison.

The words circled round in my head, day after day, maddeningly; and on my next trip to Diagon Alley, I found myself grasping a small, egg-shaped bit of glass -- clear on one side, lacquered black on the other, a Findegg. 

It's relatively easy to charm a Findegg; they only last three or four years, but I imagine he didn't use it more than that at any rate. By then he was travelling again. 

I was glad it didn't take long for the Weasleys to hold one of those awful Order reunions everyone seems to like so well. Rehashing of the glory days. Strictly for those without enough work on hand, to my mind. 

It took all five courses of dinner, barely looking at Lupin -- who, admittedly, had hidden himself in a corner as usual, and was feeding the twins listlessly. By the time I felt that there was reasonable enough privacy to do it, Arthur Weasley was clearing off the tables and most of the rest of the Order were off somewhere, chatting irritatingly with Molly.

I didn't want it to take long. I simply went up to him, and knelt, and said I had this and did he want it?

He looked down at the little Findegg, which was reflecting up a small, black-haired boy asleep in a crib, and then at me.

"That's Potter," I said, as one of those godawful twins began to drool on my sleeve. 

"Harry?"

"Yes."

He smiled a little, and held it up to the sunlight. "Where'd you get it?"

"Found it," I muttered.

"I can look at Harry whenever I like?"

"That's the idea." Idiot.

He closed his fist around it, and put it in an inside pocket where none of the brats could reach it. 

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Just thought you'd want it," I answered, glad to be rid of the thing. 

Molly told me he finally snapped out of it a few days later. He left the country, as far as I know. Good riddance, I suppose.

Thy brain is plagued. Thou art a frighted owl  
Blind with the light of life thou'ldst not forsake,  
And error loves and nourishes thy soul.

***

III. Remus

Oh, well, that...I mean I hardly even think about it anymore. There are so many more important things to think about, aren't there? World problems and that. He's come back, after all.

That was what I was afraid of. That he would come back. Now that he is, it's rather as though the worst has happened. So I just keep on. I do as I'm told, follow orders -- I never had much money so it's not as though I miss a steady income to begin with. I live quite cheaply at Headquarters, I almost never need new clothes, I'm very good at mending things myself -- a wizard with a needle, haha.

I do remember the boys, of course. Especially the twins. Oh, they were horrors. I don't know how I managed them, but I felt that I ought to do something to earn my keep, and poor Molly, already pregnant with Ginny. There was that, really, that was what I felt; as though I owed them something. That was what kept me going. I don't recall anything else -- hunger, thirst, any of it. I slept quite well, really. I think because, well, I wasn't thinking. 

It's a terrible life, you know, only going on because you owe someone something.

I felt as though I owed everyone, for Sirius' betrayal; as though I could have stopped it somehow. My whole life I've been in debt, one way or another. After James and Lily died, debt was all I had. 

At any rate, it was so easy simply...not to think. To just do as Molly told me, look after the twins and Ron, and all three needed plenty of looking-after. Percy hung about, must have been five or so, I think he liked that I was quiet, that I never asked him idiot questions. Quite ahead of himself, Percy, but in some ways a rather sad, lonely child. Perhaps that's why he liked me.

I just existed. I didn't have any worries, I didn't even get hungry. Molly gave me food, I ate; if she didn't, I starved, but I didn't care. It's awful not to care. 

I don't really know how long I stayed. I never asked Molly, and we never really discussed it. I doubt she even knows why I left. 

Why I did leave...I don't know why Severus did it. It can't have been because he liked me, since he didn't like me, and I didn't like him. Everything's a bit...cloudy. But I know that he was the one crouched next to me, suffering Fred to gnaw on his sleeve, when I found myself holding a little Findegg in my hand, looking down at someone who could only be...

You see I hadn't thought about Harry. Not at all. I hadn't even realised he was still alive, I sometimes think. And there he was...James' son. The son of one of my best friends. In this little glass thing in my hand.

Severus said something, and I know I asked if I could look at Harry anytime I pleased, and he said something about that being the idea. 

You see I didn't owe Harry anything. He didn't want anything from me. He was hardly more than a baby. He was just this perfect little...like he represented everything that was good that James and Lily had died for. 

Harry was my hope.

Come to that, sometimes I think he still is. 

At any rate I realised I was being a fool and that Severus knew I was being a fool -- which was possibly the more motivating of the two -- and so I began to pack, and found a job in Ireland, and from there a job in Boston, and from there one in Quebec. You get the idea. It didn't matter that I was gone, because I could still see Harry anytime I liked. It didn't matter what I was doing, so long as I was doing good things.

I had a boy to think about, after all, who was going to have to grow up in this world, so I was going to make sure it was a good one.

The best-laid plans of men and werewolves, I suppose.

Like I said, I don't think much about it. I just keep fighting. Because of Harry, and the Twins, and Ron and Percy, and little Ginny. 

Because someone's got to.


	5. Divination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is afraid of Divination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

"I don't see why we have to take Divination at all," Remus said, which was peculiar in itself because Remus actually liked school. Not that James and Sirius didn't, but they didn't like classes unless they got to blow something up in them, preferably a Slytherin. Peter was ambiguous about school, on the whole. 

"Because we do," Sirius sighed.

"That's a stupid reason."

"Oooh, listen to Moony," James said, waggling his fingers as his friend. "Moony has an opinion!"

"Yeah, and it's that you're a berk," Remus replied. He scuffed one of his shoes against the podium of a statue as they passed on their way to the tower. 

"You needn't take it again after this year," Sirius said. "I hear it's dead easy, though. All making things up and staring at balls."

James sniggered rudely, and Remus rolled his eyes. 

"I wonder if they're big balls or little balls," James blurted, and he and Sirius almost fell over laughing.

"It isn't funny," Remus mumbled, stopping to lean on the stone wall as they composed themselves. Peter patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Why're you so upset about Divs? It's just class," Sirius said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Maybe to you, you haven't got any deep dark secrets to divine."

"Is it Divine?" James asked. "Shouldn't it be Divinate?"

"I'm serious," Remus protested.

"No, I am," Sirius said, and the other three rolled their eyes. 

"What if she really can read peoples' futures and see into their minds and all?" Remus asked, beginning to climb the ladder up to the classroom. "I'm dead in the water, I am."

"D'you think they'd hire someone who can actually read minds, knowing you're around?" Sirius asked, emerging into the classroom. It was filled with small cushioned stools, arranged around bare wood tables covered with, of all things, tea services. It was cool and breezy with the windows open.

"Welcome," said Professor Skrye, smiling down on them. "Young Misters Black and Potter, Lupin and...Pettigrew."

The boys exchanged suddenly worried looks. Remus turned pale.

"Please be seated -- ah -- only two to a table, if you don't mind. Mr Black, I think you should be seated with Mr Pettigrew...yes, I know what you had in mind with Mr Potter...."

"Oh bollocks," Remus whispered, almost shaking as he sat down. "I'm done for now, aren't I?"

"Lucky guess," James whispered back.

"As you gentlemen are rather early, would you like a preview of what is to come? Ahaha, that's my little joke," said the professor, crouching between Remus and James at their table. "Most practitioners of the divinatory arts require one to drink the tea-leaves first, but let us see...yes, Mr Lupin."

"M-me?" Remus stammered. Sirius and James looked worried.

"Pour just a little water into your teacup...yes, that's it, right over the leaves...swirl it around a little..."

She took the cup out of his trembling hand, and looked down into it. 

"Ah yes, Mr Lupin...oh dear me....often ill...."

Peter was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and Sirius looked as if he was ready to bolt.

"A great fear of your illness, for yes, it is dangerous, is it not -- oh! Oh!"

Remus froze, terrified, as she looked up at him. 

"Consumption!" she gasped. 

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Sirius began to snort with laughter, concealing it under the guise of a coughing fit.

"Ah, do not drink the tea before its time," she admonished, thumping him soundly on the back. James watched Remus breathe a sigh of relief, and they exchanged a weak smile.

"I think you'll be all right," James whispered with a wink. 

***

"Ah, Professor Lupin, glad to see you arrived whole and in one piece," said Albus Dumbledore, as Remus smiled and shook the offered hand. "Very good work you did on the train, as well. Have you met Professor Trelawney?"

Remus looked somewhat skeptically at the woman before him, draped in bangles and beads, with enormous glasses resting precariously on her nose. 

"My pleasure, Professor," he said, startled when she clasped his offered hand in both of hers and gave him a deep, searching look.

"You have been ill," she said ominously.

"Professor Trelawney is our Divinations instructor," Dumbledore said, and Remus gulped. "I am sure you two will get along perfectly well."

"Yes indeed, a great illness," Trelawney said, and her tone was almost stern. "You will not be with us long."

"I...won't?" Remus asked, desperately trying not to think about werewolves and therefore, of course, thinking of nothing but.

"Yes, yes...clearly you are in for troubled times ahead," she said wispily. Remus began to panic. "For not many men of your age and condition survive Wizarding Influenza..."

Remus smiled at her, suddenly, and patted her fingers, which were still clasped around his right hand. "Forewarned is forearmed, Professor Trelawney. I shall endeavour to face my fate with as much sagacity as you have used in predicting it."

She gave him a serene nod, one last squeeze of her hands, and drifted dreamily away. Remus leaned against the wall, covered his mouth with his hand, and laughed himself sick.

"I wonder if her balls are big or small," he murmured to himself, as he entered the Great Hall for the feast.


	6. In Another Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus Lupin had good reason to tell the Order to go fuck themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

When the Order met again, after the fall of Voldemort, it was the first time Severus Snape attended, and the last time Remus Lupin did.

Severus was young, and looked even younger, black eyes wide, face pale under dark hair, anxious, easily frightened. He felt that every time they looked at him they must be looking for the Mark. He wanted to wear a Muggle shirt with sleeves rolled up, to show that his Mark was gone, but he hadn't that much courage. He wore plain black robes instead, and never made eye contact with anyone.

Remus was just as young, but nobody noticed; he had never looked young, not since he left school. He was not afraid but none of the Order would meet his vicious brown eyes; it was their shame, not his.

Speeches were made, but neither young man listened. Severus was too uneasy; Remus too angry.

When Dumbledore finally spoke, most of the Order was watching the pair, and not the Headmaster. The first either young man heard was the offer being made.

"There are positions for both of you at Hogwarts, as teachers," Dumbledore said, gravely, as though conferring a great gift. "The Order will take care of its own."

None of them expected the particularly derisive snort to come from Remus. He stepped forward, and crossed his arms. 

Dumbledore faced him, but his eyes still would not fix on Lupin's. 

"Fuck the Order," he said, very clearly and very calmly. There were a few gasps. "Fuck your jobs, Dumbledore, and fuck you."

Silence.

"Fuck your pity," Remus continued, in that still-so-reasonable voice, "And fuck your regrets that it wasn't me," he added. Several people winced.

"You don't mean that, lad," Alastor Moody muttered. Remus whirled on him.

"How dare you tell me what to think," he asked, whip-thin body trembling with rage. "How dare you spend months believing me a traitor and then presume to know anything I believe?"

He started forward, and Moody went for his wand at the same time Severus made his first and last gracious gesture to Remus Lupin. He laid his left hand on the other man's arm, and tugged gently.

Remus turned to look at him. 

Their eyes met. 

He slowly shrugged off the hand, and nodded to the Order.

"I decline your offer," he said. "Goodbye."

No-one stopped him as he left, though Severus watched him go with just a hint of admiration before he turned to the Headmaster. 

"Any job," he said, with quiet humility. "I have nowhere else to turn."

They didn't see Remus again for twelve years, didn't hear from him for nine; Dumbledore sent a letter to him twice a year, and twice a year the owl returned with it still clutched unopened in its claws. Whether the owls were even finding him -- he was good at concealment -- wasn't known. Whether he was even still alive, though they thought he was too strong for suicide, wasn't known either.

In August of the ninth year of his exile -- Harry had just turned ten -- Moody received a thick, pale piece of paper, about the size of a postcard. The handwriting was Remus', though strangely distorted, as if written by someone not quite in control of themselves. Later he would find that Remus had been in a hospital in Beijing, delirious with fever; the nurses didn't speak his language, and he didn't speak theirs, but they brought him paper and ink to write the letter on.

It read, very simply, Tell the Order I am alive. For the moment. Which is all anyone can ask for.

It was the only communication they had from him. He had simply vanished. 

The night Sirius Black escaped Azkaban, Dumbledore sent Remus an urgent letter with the news and a plea to come home, he was in danger, and so was Harry Potter, James' son. Three days afterwards, the owl returned carrying -- Dumbledore's heart lifted in a way he hadn't thought possible -- a letter written on ragged parchment and sealed with cheap wax. 

If that job is still available, I feel I could give it a go.

Dumbledore immediately contacted the man they had spoken to about the Dark Arts job, and explained that his services would not be needed. 

Neither of them apologised to the other. Dumbledore treated him as any other teacher, and Remus never showed even a hint of sarcasm in his obedient respect for the Headmaster. Dumbledore heard stories of his travels second-hand from other professors, or from Rosmerta. 

Invitations began to arrive for him from members of the Order -- to dinner, for a weekend stay, to a reunion of old friends. Remus preferred Severus' hatred and envy. At least those were honest emotions that Severus did not hide behind politeness or distant regard. 

He wrote simple, courteous replies, declining them all. 

Severus' betrayal came almost as a relief, when it happened. He was not used to people...knowing him. People seeing him for long enough to guess what he would do next. It unnerved him. 

He had property from his father, the family home and some land concealed from Muggles, owned outright and, due to the concealment, untaxed. He stayed there for two weeks, and then went traveling again. 

By the time he returned, on a summons from Dumbledore, he found Sirius encamped firmly in the old farmhouse. 

"He's back," Sirius said simply. Remus set his bags down, took the drink that was poured for him, threw it back, and held out his glass for another. Sirius poured again. He downed the second, nodded, and sat at the kitchen table.

"Then it's starting again," he said. "When's the first meeting?"

"Tomorrow."

"You going?"

"Aye."

"Good."

"It's being held here."

Remus looked up at his friend, and tapped a finger on his lips. 

"That bastard," he said softly. 

The Order gathered in the farmhouse the next day, Molly arriving first to 'arrange things'; Sirius and Remus kept out of her way, and kept silent, sitting in Remus' bedroom, Remus on a chair with a book, Sirius crosslegged on the bed, lost in thought. 

When Sirius walked in, the noise of the Order's greetings to each other dropped, then quickly rose again; they'd seen him on his rounds as messenger for Dumbledore, or heard his story from reliable sources. 

When Remus followed, a minute later, the silence became absolute. 

He stopped on the threshold, as two dozen faces turned to look at him. 

Sirius turned too, and held out his hand, gesturing him forward. Behind Sirius, Severus Snape met his eyes squarely.

"You remember Remus Lupin," Sirius said, gently but loudly.

Some of the faces turned away. Others came forward to greet him. He was suddenly surrounded by people, shaking his hand, touching his arm, nodding greetings. Sirius' palm was warm on the small of his back. 

He allowed a smile to spread across his face, as he shook hands, and touched arms, and nodded greetings back.

This was home.


	7. Memory And A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Hermione reach an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

She noticed it, of course. 

At the beginning of her stay at Grimmauld Place there was practically nobody there, and when there are only six or seven people, you take note when two of them are at each other's throats. Hermione knew that Sirius and Professor Snape had a History, and that it was more War of the Roses than Pax Terra Marique. She'd seen how unrepentant Sirius was about Professor Snape's near-death so many years ago; it was clear his only regret was getting caught. 

Professor Lupin -- just plain Lupin now, or Remus once in a while, after dinners when the adults were more relaxed -- seemed to have forgiven him easily, but then Professor Lupin -- just-plain-Lupin -- usually did forgive easily, no matter the transgression. When the shouting matches happened, outside of Order meetings, he simply got up and left. When they happened during meetings, so she understood, he went very still and quiet, and never spoke. 

Hermione saw all of this in a detached way, just as she saw Sirius and Professor Snape goad each other, Sirius because he had nothing better to do, Professor Snape because he could finally get his own back. The problem was that it seemed as though, even for a murder attempt, Professor Snape took it too far, brooded on it too much; after all, at Hogwarts, attempting to hex one's fellow students into the grave wasn't that unusual, and it didn't sound as though Professor Snape had been in any real danger, considering Harry's father had saved him. 

It made her curious, and because Hermione never needed an actual reason to satisfy her curiousity, she convinced herself that perhaps if she knew, she could help. After all, she lived at 12 Grimmauld Place too, and had to cope with the all-hours shouting matches as much as any of the other grownups. None of them were doing anything. She might as well try.

Which was how, after dinner one night, she found herself following Lupin up to the library, where he generally retreated to when he wasn't called away on Order business. She'd waited for the proper opportunity; Lupin still thought himself their professor, that much was clear, and was rarely casual enough around "the children" to speak on delicate subjects. Tonight they'd had wine with dinner, though, and he'd seemed more at ease since Professor Snape was out of the house, and Sirius had been well-behaved at dinner. It was worth a try.

"Looking for reading, Hermione?" he asked, already settled in one of the library's wing-chairs as she entered, a glass of brandy on the lamp-table at his elbow. 

"I think so," she replied, pretending to scan the nearest shelf -- books on Magical Beasts, mostly.

"Up and to your right," he said, and she obeyed. "Second shelf down. Third book from the left, in the red cover. There," he added, as she placed her hand on the proper book. Thee Totyl Dragyn, 1796, Flourish Publishing. "I think you might enjoy it."

"Thank you," she said, finding her way to another chair. "Will you light my lamp?"

"Hm? Right." He flicked his wand casually, and the flame in her lamp sprang to life, creating a second pool of gold light in the dim library. "Annoying, isn't it, not being able to do anything in the summers."

"Especially when the lamps won't light any other way," she agreed, settling in. She crossed her legs and opened the book on her lap, reading without really paying attention; instead she kept her eye on the brandy glass he sipped from absently. She knew from listening to Sirius discuss it with Mr. Weasley (who was always Mr. Weasley, unlike Sirius or Lupin-or-Remus-depending) that it was good brandy, brought up from the basement for Remus, who had a taste for things he couldn't afford. Like the fine linen shirts Sirius had bought him that Remus was too proud to wear. 

He drank Sirius' brandy though, and Hermione thought she understood; the brandy wasn't something Sirius had paid for, it wasn't given to Remus out of pity. 

She reflected that she possibly knew entirely too many of the secrets kept by people in this house. But then that was what Hermione did -- watched and learned. 

When he'd drained the last of the glass, she closed the book, quietly.

"Remus," she tried, and he looked up absently, his mind still buried somewhere in Tacitus. 

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

He gave her the standard Professors' answer she'd been expecting. "Of course. What did you need to know?"

"It's personal."

"To you or to me?"

"Neither," she said, gathering her courage. "It's about Sirius."

He glanced at his brandy glass, as if just realising it was empty, and dug in the pocket of his coat, slung across the back of the chair, for something. Either he would agree, or he would tell her there were some things not his business to tell; she would know whether to ask from his reply.

"Go on," he said distractedly, checking another pocket. 

"I know Professor Snape hates him," she said, as he found what looked like a tarnished business-card case with a slight triumphant noise. "But it seems like he hates him..." she swallowed. "Too much."

"Too much?" he asked, fingers toying with the case. "How do you mean?"

"Well...I know they didn't like each other in school -- " a derisive snort from him nearly told her what she needed to know, "but it seems like if it was just the one time, even Professor Snape wouldn't hold so much of a grudge. And...and Sirius would have no real reason to hate him like he does."

Remus had bent his head over the case and was fiddling with it; he looked up at her, and suddenly she decided she hadn't given him enough credit. After a long moment, he sighed, and opened the case, taking out a small white cylinder.

This was a secret she hadn't known, and she stared as he put the cigarette between his lips and lit it with a flame that leapt up from his left ring-finger. He saw her dismay, and smiled. 

"Wizarding cigarettes," he said succinctly, exhaling a small puff of smoke. "A filthy habit, but at least these are odorless, and they don't stain the teeth. There's nothing to be done about the lung cancer, of course, but werewolf lungs -- "

" -- aren't susceptible to toxic fumes," she finished. "I remember reading that."

"Yes, you made me a particular study, didn't you?" he asked, without malice. "If I wanted to die there are much easier ways, though on the whole it'd be very difficult for a werewolf to commit suicide. Perhaps on purpose," he added, and a note of dry humour overrode the teacherly monotone he'd been using. "After all, I couldn't afford enough silver for a bullet. You were asking about Sirius, I believe?" he said, smoothly changing the topic. "And why he and our dear Professor Snape hate each other so?"

"I thought if there was something else between them..."

Remus exhaled another breath of smoke, meditatively.

"There's everything else between them," he said quietly. "At school James and Sirius tormented him, though occasionally he fought back. I never interfered; I began my career as a coward at quite a young age, you see."

"I'm sure you're not -- "

"Don't patronise me, Hermione, it demeans us both," he interrupted gently. She lapsed into silence, and he flicked ash off the end of the cigarette, into the empty brandy glass. "For James, it was always tit-for-tat -- he gave Severus the opportunity to draw first, and usually his vengeances were small enough. Put him with Sirius, though...Sirius was -- is -- a predator. You don't suppose he hates being locked up here because he'd rather be out doing the work of the Order?" He shook his head. "Sirius wants something to hunt. That was why he joined the Order in the first place."

"But why Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, watching the smoke drift away into the darkness. 

"Why not? There's usually one, in every class," Remus answered. "Law of nature. Yours was lucky."

"Lucky? We've got Malfoy, that ferret..."

"Yes, but when Draco hits you, you hit back, don't you?" he asked, and there was an almost cynical look in his eye. 

"Yes..."

"And even Neville has his defenders?"

Hermione looked puzzled. "Yes. And he can pretty well defend himself, a lot of the time."

"Then you're lucky, aren't you."

She considered things. "Why was Professor Snape the one?"

"Why is anyone ever the one. I suppose he was weaker than us. It wasn't so bad until sixth year, they were on even ground to that point, but -- " he stopped, suddenly, and glanced away. 

"Did he deserve it?" Hermione asked quietly.

"No one does."

"No, I meant -- "

"I know what you meant," he said, more gently than the words implied. "What did he do that made us think he deserved what he got. Hard to believe Harry's father would attack unprovoked with malice aforethought, isn't it?"

Hermione was silent, watching the slight flare of red on the tip of the cigarette as he inhaled.

"There was a time they were nearly equals, if only because James was too lazy to put in the effort, and Sirius didn't care much," Remus continued, on the exhale. She glanced up, and saw him watching her, brown eyes sleepy, pupils slightly dilated. "My fault, really," he mused.

"Your fault?"

"Sirius found out, you see," he said, and then snorted smoke out his nose in a dry, bitter laugh. 

"Found out?"

"Severus was my study partner -- my tutor, more properly. In Defence Against the Dark Arts, ironically. When one is a Dark Creature oneself, Defence becomes...complicated. I had fallen behind." Remus dropped the filter of the cigarette into the glass, where the dregs of the brandy flared briefly before going out. "I wasn't like James and Sirius were to each other. I was a step above Peter, mind you, but I was still a possession as much as a friend. Sirius doesn't like to share his toys."

Hermione realised quite suddenly that perhaps they were not discussing who was whose tutor.

"And so he punished him. And it grew from there." Her face must have betrayed her feelings, because he shook his head and tucked the case back in his coat pocket. "Don't worry, I'm in no danger of blaming myself for Sirius' actions. I only blame myself for the actions I don't take."

She watched him, wary now that the bitterness was beginning to outweigh the amusement.

"Did I answer your question, Miss Granger?" he asked, voice dropping a little as he fell into his lecturing tone. She nodded slowly, and set the book aside. He rose too, an old gesture of respect he gave Molly and Ginny as well, standing when they stood. 

As she passed out of the library, she turned to see him bending over her lamp; he cupped a hand over the top of the chimney, and blew it out, neatly, before returning to his own solitary, well-defined circle of light in the darkened room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pax Terra Marique: "Peace on Land and at Sea", the peace that reigned while Augustus was Emperor of Rome.


	8. Pygmalion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry was stone that summer, hard face, cold eyes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

Harry was stone that summer, hard face, cold eyes; he didn't feel and didn't think anything about anything, or if he did he didn't show it. Uncle Vernon had taken a belt to him, finally, after he intentionally burned their breakfast one morning, and Dudley had held him down, or tried to; Harry, thin but wiry, had ducked through Dudley's thick, greasy fingers and kicked him hard in the stones. The Dursleys had to deal suddely with a vomiting, mewling sixteen-year-old and hadn't noticed Harry vanishing up the stairs. They hadn't considered him at all until they were already on their way to hospital. 

Harry had packed calmly and methodically, folding his clothing neatly, and then had simply crossed the street and knocked on Arabella Figg's door.

"It's over," he'd said.

And so they'd had to take him to Twelve Grimmauld Place, where he was just as much a prisoner as Sirius had been, but not sullen or pointedly irritating as Sirius had tried to be. He washed regularly, did his laundry, kept his room tidy, patiently did everything he was told to do, and always ate everything on his plate. If spoken to, he would answer politely but briefly, and then go about his business.

"Talk to him," Molly told Remus. "He'll listen to you."

"He listens to everyone," Remus replied. "That isn't the problem."

But she was right, someone had to say something to the boy, so at breakfast one morning as he set a plate of cornflakes in front of Harry, he said, "Now you know."

Harry looked up at him, his usual cool gaze broken only by a hint of inquiry.

"Know what?" he asked indifferently.

"What it's like to lose your whole world in a day," Remus answered evenly, pouring himself some orange juice from the jug on the table. Harry was silent. "And if it turns you to stone, then you are that much harder to kill."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to the cause. When you're a soldier the cause is your life."

"Then I don't want to be a soldier."

"What do you want to be?"

"Dead."

Remus gave him a small smile. "The feeling passes, in time."

Harry carried his bowl to the sink, and stood over it, filling it with water slowly, staring down.

"I don't want it to," he said.

Remus had eaten another three bites of his own cereal before he realised Harry was bent over the sink, fingers gripping the edge, chest heaving. He was crying, soundlessly, as though he'd had a lot of practice in silent grief.

Harry turned when he put his hand on his shoulder, and he was surprisingly warm in Remus' arms, fingers gathering up his loose threadbare shirt into knots. 

"It's all right," Remus said. "He didn't feel any pain, you know."

"I'm not crying for him," Harry mumbled, into his chest. Remus stroked his unruly hair -- so like his father's, though James could always make his behave if he wanted. 

"Then who are you crying for?" he asked.

"I'm not crying for anyone," Harry said. He took a heaving breath, and let out a soft sob. "I'm just crying."

"All right then."

They were silent for a while, until Harry stepped back, and Remus let him go carefully.

"I hate myself," he said, and Remus stifled the urge to pull him close again. "Because it's not Sirius I miss."

"You barely had time to know him," Remus answered. "That's not all that surprising, Harry."

"But he used to...he'd grab me, you know, and we'd wrestle, or he'd sit next to me..." Harry wiped his nose and looked embarrassed. "He treated me like family are supposed to. I miss that."

"He touched you," Remus said.

"No, not like that -- "

"I didn't mean that way." Remus brushed some hair off Harry's forehead. "Like this. Just -- touching. He did the same thing to me when we were young, after the full moons."

"He made me feel -- " 

" -- real."

Harry nodded. 

"But he's gone," Remus continued, "and we're still here."

"What happened last time?" Harry asked. 

Remus shrugged. "I survived."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

Harry leaned against the sink again, studying his trainers.

"But I'm here this time."

Remus smiled. "Yes you are."


	9. The Last Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time in the X-Files fandom, when I was but a wee fanling, there was an entire genre devoted to the "annual dance" at which our hero and heroine finally realised they were perfect for each other...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

"Thanks for coming tonight," Tonks said, as Remus wrapped warm fingers around her elbow, following up the stairs a step behind. "I hate these things, but..."

"Must make a good impression -- " he answered with a small smile, catching her as she tripped and giving her a gentle push up to the top of the steps, " -- if you're going to be head of the Aurors by the time you're thirty."

"It's not that so much..." she said, stopping in front of the hotel's doors. The doorman obediently held one open for her, but she ignored him and straightened the black bow tie Remus wore. "It's a good chance to meet important people and I don't want to be doing field work my whole life. It's fun for now, but it won't be when I'm a hundred and ten. How do I look?"

Remus swept her from head to toe with an objective gaze. She wondered for the millionth time if she shouldn't have worn the silver dress and blonde hair, but the deep red dress went better with black hair and if she had to be traditional, she would bloody well go full bore and take after her mama and the aristocratic Blacks. He seemed to approve, anyway; he nodded and said, "You look wonderful, Nymphadora."

"Tonks!" she insisted. 

"Tonks," he agreed with a small sigh. "Am I acceptable?"

Of course he was; his hair was neatly cut and brushed, more silver than brown now, but it looked distinguished that way. The hired formal robes had been tailored in a few strategic places, with Molly's help, and he wore them well enough. Her mum had approved without laying eyes on him; _Any man_ , she'd said, _that can wear patches with pride will carry a suit properly._

He bowed a little and tipped his cane in the direction of the patient doorman; she curtseyed back, stumbled, and recovered enough to walk regally into the hotel as if she owned it, just as mum had taught her. 

Truth be told, Remus needed this as much as she did; for him it was like Hallowe'en, a chance to dress up and be someone else, the opportunity to masquerade at the Aurors' annual fancy-dress charity ball. Besides, he'd get to see Moody try to pull off formal dress, a sight not to be missed by anyone. She was happy to give him the night; he'd accept money for the hire of the suit and new shoes and the haircut, if it was in service of her career. She hated making it into some kind of business proposition, but he'd been very gracious and polite about the whole thing, with the soft touch of long practice.

She _wanted_ to give him the night; Merlin knew, with the Ministry denying Voldemort's return and Sirius chafing at his enforced imprisonment at Grimmauld Place, Remus could use the diversion. She wanted to give him a lot of nights he'd missed, in fact, and she wanted to divert him as long as he'd let her. She strongly suspected that she was falling in love with him. 

And, if she was going to be honest, she wanted him to see her out of her Auroring uniform. She knew there were at least three men and two women at this dance who would like to be seen on her arm, and maybe if he saw how they looked at her, he might, too. She wasn't betting on it -- she'd played enough catch-me-if-you-can at Hogwarts that she'd grown tired of it -- but it was worth a try. 

"Tonks!" Kingsley called across the hotel lobby. "This way!"

"Evening, Kingsley!" she called. 

"You look nice," he said as they approached. 

"Thank you! So do you. Is that full Muggle dress?" she asked, taking in the tuxedo he wore. 

"Yes. It took me forever to figure this bit out," he said, pointing to the cummerbund. "Hallo Lupin. Squiring Tonks?"

"I'm just here for the open bar," Remus said with a smile at her. 

"Aren't we all," Kingsley replied, leading them down a brightly-lit corridor and through a pair of wide doors. The ballroom inside was bedecked with slightly more glittering gold than was tasteful -- so like the Wizarding World to be excessively gaudy -- and little pixies holding candles flitted this way and that, illuminating the rest of the attendees. Just inside the threshold, Remus stopped suddenly.

"All right?" Tonks asked, glancing at him. 

"Oh -- yes -- sorry, it's just, are you sure? I mean -- " he ducked his head. "Being seen with a Dark Creature..."

"Remus, we went over that. Twice. Three times if you count the time you asked Molly to talk to me about it," she said. 

"Right. Right. All right then," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. "Unto the breach."

They walked around the edge of the dance floor, stopping to talk to people as they went. Remus seemed faintly amused by the number of people she knew, and she was pleased that they all behaved themselves -- not a single stray look for the werewolf on her arm, no snide remarks. She hadn't expected any, but then you never knew. He was gravely courteous and amiable without being familiar, as if he'd done this all his life.

"Nymphadoraaaaaa!" someone called, and she bit her lip. 

"There's a....person coming this way," Remus said softly.

"It's too late, he's spotted me," she whispered back. "My boss' boss."

"He's glittering."

"Try not to look directly at him."

Alexi Petronius planted himself in front of them and beamed at her. She had a hard time not giggling. He was a great man, a brave man, a veteran of battle and a good manager. He squeezed money from the Ministry for them, held them all to a ridiculously high standard, and loved his work.

He also loved shiny things, the way magpies do. Gold bangles glittered on his wrist, a gold chain dangled from his ear; he was six feet tall and rail-thin but every inch was draped in metallic bronze fabric. He looked like an explosion in a bank vault, or possibly the most tasteless flagpole ever. 

"Nymphadora, how lovely you look," he said, beaming at her. "Quite a change from our usual duty-bound young public servant."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I'd like you to meet my date for the evening -- this is Remus Lupin. Remus, this is my regional supervisor, Mr. Petronius."

"Ah!" Petronius said, offering his hand. Remus shook it without hesitation. "You're the werewolf!"

Tonks fought the urge to cover her eyes.

"Not definitively," Remus replied solemnly. 

"Eh?"

"Merely _a_ , not _the_ ," Remus continued. "Though I have been known as _that_ werewolf, from time to time."

Petronius looked from him to her and back, then laughed.

"You're taking the piss, Mr. Lupin," he said. "Good on yer. Stupid of me; my apologies."

"None required."

"Splendid. I'm sure I'll run into you again -- ha ha, run into Nymphadora, of course I will -- at the moment I see Fudge and I've got to go have a word with the little bastard. Excuse me -- save me a dance, Nymphadora," he called over his shoulder as he hurried away. Remus contemplated him for a few seconds.

"He's not as stupid as he acts, is he?" he asked.

"Definitely not. You passed, though, so no worries," she said.

"Passed?"

"Yep," she replied, without elaborating, steering him towards the bar. "He's a nice guy, when he's not working. He never minds when I step on his shoes."

"Oh Merlin, you don't dance, do you?" he asked, looking at her in mock horror. "You'll kill someone!"

"That is _un_ kind," she said, laughing. "I've never unintentionally killed anyone on the dance floor yet."

"She's killed a few with malicious intent, though," said a new voice, and Tonks turned slightly.

"Jack! You came!" she said, though she hadn't really doubted he would. Jack spread his arms.

"Like the monkey suit? I haven't worn anything this silly-looking since Hogwarts," he said. "Too many ruffles, I said, but the woman in the shop insisted. How'd you escape without ruffles?" he asked Remus, who was accepting two glasses of wine from the bartender. 

"Hired," Remus answered, smiling. "Unless I miss my guess, you're Jack Higgs."

"You don't, but I'm afraid I've no clue who you are," Jack replied. "How do you know me?"

"Tonks mentions you from time to time."

"Jack, this is Remus Lupi -- "

" -- Lupin! You're the -- "

" _Don't_ say werewolf," Tonks interjected, before she could stop herself. Jack looked injured.

"I wasn't going to, Tonksy. Trial by fire gets old, don't it?" he asked Remus. "I saw the boss' performance. I was going to say, you're the big secret. She talks about you all the time."

"Do you now," Remus said, gazing inquiringly at her. She blushed a little. 

"Yeah, and she wouldn't tell us who she was taking to the dance. I thought she was just telling me she had a date so she wouldn't have to say yes to me and keep me from going stag. She tells me you're wicked with a good countercurse," Jack confided. "You won't hex me if I steal her for a bit, will you? I want to dance with her. It's like riding a Muggle colleroaster -- you never quite know what's going to happen next, but it's fun all the same."

"Go on, Tonks -- have fun," Remus said in her ear, sipping his glass of wine. "I'll be fine, and you should enjoy yourself."

She let Jack lead her away, glancing back to make sure he was being truthful, but he'd found a place to sit and was stretching his leg -- the last Change hadn't been kind to his left leg, and he was still feeling it a little. Kingsley was moving his way purposefully, so that was all right; he'd have company. 

She didn't do too badly with Jack, actually. He was a splendid dancer and just a little bit of a control freak, so he showed her where to go rather better than another man might have. She only kicked one person, anyway, which was well below average. 

"You should have let me bring you," Jack said as they danced. "I wanted to."

"I know, Jack, but I can't be encouraging you pointlessly," she replied, smiling at him. 

"I'm all for pointless encouragement! If you'd give me half a chance I'd make it more than worth your while. You can't be serious about _him_ , can you?" he asked, tipping his head in Remus' direction.

"Why does a woman _have_ to be serious about someone? I like you, Jack, but we'd never get on. It's not a competition; nobody's beating you out. You're just not in the running."

"Ah! Losing on my own merits. There's something to be said for that. If you take up with Annie Longbottom, however -- "

"My virtue is safe from Annie, that I do promise you," she said, rolling her eyes. The music ended and he bowed. 

"Want another?"

"No, thanks anyway, Jack," she said. He gave her a half-smile and let her walk away, ambling over to a knot of younger Aurors who greeted him enthusiastically enough. 

She found Remus easily enough; he hadn't gone very far, though apparently he'd found some people to talk to while she was dancing. 

"Have a good time?" he asked.

"Yeah -- Jack's a nice guy," she said. "Annie, Jane..."

"Hi, Tonks," Annie Longbottom said, winking at her. Jane rolled her eyes behind Annie's back. 

"Kingsley introduced me to your friends," Remus said. "I think I've learned more about you in the last five minutes than the last five months."

"Not telling any secrets, are you?" Tonks asked lightly.

"Nothing so far," Jane said. "Tonks, can I steal him? My date's gone off to talk politics."

"He's not a coat!" Tonks said.

"Nor a dancer, I'm afraid," Remus said regretfully. He held up the cane, its brass lion's-head catching the light of a stray candle. 

"Let's steal Tonks, then," Jane suggested, and Annie grinned at her. Before Tonks could object they'd grabbed her arms and were pulling her back into the dancers. Remus watched her go, looking rather more paternal than she liked. 

Whenever she came to find him, he seemed to have discovered someone new to talk to or some old friend -- he spent quite a while ribbing Moody about his idea of formalwear -- and she never managed more than ten minutes with him before someone else asked her to dance. He didn't seem to mind; he looked as if he was enjoying himself, and she was glad of that...

But she wanted to _dance_ with him. Just once. A slow dance, for preference. Just because she didn't like playing games didn't mean she was above slow-dancing. 

After escaping a second dance with Jack by just a hair (she shoved Jane at him and ran) she found Remus standing with Petronius, deep in conversation. Their backs were turned to the dance floor and Petronius was studying the brass head of the cane, but talking about something else entirely.

" -- promise. There are certain things that can't be learned."

"I agree," Remus said, "but politics come into it, don't they, and it's difficult to equivocate."

"Ha! You don't lie!"

"Of course he doesn't," she said, threading her arm around his and taking his hand. "You're not getting me in trouble, are you?"

"Endeavouring not to," Remus replied. "You're very popular this evening."

"And why shouldn't she be!" Petronius said, offering him his cane again. "Look at her!"

"I've done nothing else," Remus said. His voice was low enough that she studied his face, but it was the pleasant, amiable blank it had been all evening.

"Like half the men in the room. Me included! Aren't you going to dance with me?" he asked. "Come now, Nymphadora; I'll pull rank if I have to and then you could have me fired for harassment."

"Oh -- "

"Go on, if you want to," Remus said, giving her a gentle push, hand spread across the small of her back. "I'll bring you a drink when you're done."

"Splendid party, don't you think?" Petronius asked, when they were waltzing. "Especially good music this year."

"I thought so, but then I don't have much of an ear," she said. 

"Nymphadora, do stop worrying you'll step on my feet. Steel toes," he said, looking down. She followed his glance and saw that he was wearing thick, gold-painted boots. "I have to dance with a lot of people I don't want to, most of whom are much worse at it than you are, if you'd credit it."

"Sorry, sir."

"Ah well; it's all in the line of duty. And as a reward I get to dance with pretty, clever women young enough to be my daughter. Life has its little benefits. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh yes. I don't think I've stopped dancing since we got here," she replied. 

"Good! I like to hear that. What about your werewolf there?"

She smiled. "He saw right through you, sir."

"I know. Refreshing to have it so bluntly presented. Reminds me of you back in training."

"Oh Merlin!"

" _Mr. Petronius_ ," he said, mimicking her higher voice, " _If you were that much of an idiot you wouldn't be an oversupervisor_."

" _Never underestimate the idiocy of oversupervisors_ ," she answered back. "I'll never forget the look on the instructor's face -- I thought she was going to cry out of confusion."

"You weren't the only one," he said, looking over her shoulder. He stopped suddenly and swept her out of the way of the other dancers. "But I think you'd better see to your young man."

Tonks followed his gaze to where Remus was standing in a dim corner near an open window, forehead pressed against the metal window-frame, eyes closed. 

"Thank you, sir," she said. He smiled and waved her on. 

"See you on Monday, Nymphadora."

She crossed the floor quickly, trying not to trip over anything, and touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes, startled.

"Sorry," she said. "You looked like you weren't feeling well."

"No -- just a little headache. I'm all right," he said, though he didn't look it. 

"Do you want to go?"

"Oh, Tonks, no. This is your party!" he said. "It's just the wine and the music together. Really, I'm all right. I might step outside for a minute or two."

"I'll come along, I could use the break," she said, and they walked together down the now-dim corridor to the front steps. A few other people from the party were there, smoking cigarettes or waiting for cabs. Remus looked better in the fresh air, away from the noisy ballroom. The moon was a thin, waning crescent in the sky, but the streetlights illuminated their faces well enough. 

"I'm not used to talking to so many people," he said. "They're all very nice, Tonks."

"Aurors are a select breed," she said proudly.

"Yes. They are," he agreed. "It was just the noise. All the talking and the music on top of it. And I sound like I'm about ninety years old, don't I?"

"No," she laughed. "I was getting tired too. Do you want to go home?"

"If you want to stay, I'll be all right in another few minutes," he said. "The last thing I want to do is make you leave early."

"Early? It's almost midnight, Remus. No, I'm getting tired too..." she paused, regretful. "But I wanted to dance with you, just once."

He looked sidelong at her, then smiled. 

"Let's get a cab," he said. 

***

He looked better by the time they arrived back at Twelve Grimmauld Place, and she felt better too; she'd taken her shoes off and let her hair go pink again, both of which felt so good that she thought she could probably fall asleep in the cab. Remus, tie dangling loosely around his neck, unlocked the front door and let them both inside. She set her shoes by the door and walked into the living room, where the embers of a fire were still burning and the remains of a chess game told her that Dumbledore had been there that evening to keep Sirius occupied. 

"It's not a bad idea to stay here tonight," she said. "It's closer than my flat, anyway."

"I always hate coming home to an empty flat," he said. "Even if it's just people sleeping somewhere in the house, it feels a little less depressing after a nice night out."

"Was it nice? You didn't get to dance at all."

"It was. I got to see you dance."

She sighed. "You weren't jealous or anything? Even a little?"

He was quiet for so long that she glanced at his face, wondering if she'd crossed a line. But he was smiling, almost distantly.

"Oh, Nymphadora," he said, when she met his eyes. "Ten years doesn't seem like so much time, even for me, but there's such a...I don't mean to condescend, but you're so young."

"What does that mean?" she asked, annoyed.

"I told you I didn't mean to condescend. I'm sorry," he said, leaning the cane up against the arm of a chair and walking forward to take one of her hands. "You're pretty, and you're quite brilliant, but there are some things only having your heart broken a few more times can teach you."

"Oh? Like what?"

He raised her hand up, twining his fingers across her knuckles as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.

"Jealousy is an emotion for the insecure," he said, gazing down at her. He took a step forward and automatically she followed, stepping back; before he'd moved she was already preparing to step to the side with him. 

Waltzing. 

"We all feel it," he continued, "but those of us who have learned to measure our worth with our own scales tend to ignore it. It's unimportant."

"Oh, thank you," she said sarcastically, pulling back a little, but his arm didn't move and his hand held hers tight. 

"I didn't say _you_ were unimportant," he said in her ear. "You, Nymphadora, are very important..."

He began to hum softly as they danced, a tune she recognised from one of her father's old vinyl albums. For a man with one bad leg he certainly moved well enough, though he took small steps. Bewildered, she let him pull her closer, resting her temple against his cheek.

"You are well mannered enough to leave with the man who brought you," he said, as they danced in the soundless living room. "And to save the last dance. I don't ask for anything more; I like to watch you dance. Petronius said you have promise and passion. I'm inclined to agree."

"Do you always talk this much when you dance?" she asked, closing her eyes. 

"Only when I'm nervous," he replied, stopping just before she did, so that she fell a little into the crook of his arm and ended up leaning against his arm, looking up into his face expectantly.

"You deserve more, you know," he said, brushing a lock of pink hair behind her ear. 

"That's not up to you," she retorted, and she kissed him. 

"It'll end badly," he said, when the kiss ended, but he pulled her close and kissed her again anyway. "I generally make a mess of these things." 

"So do I," she replied, against his mouth. "We could make a pretty great mess together."

"Just warning you ahead of time," he said, nuzzling her cheek.

"Very polite of you."

"I try."

On Monday, Jane cornered her and demanded to know where she'd run off to, since she missed Jack getting a full glass of wine thrown in his face by Brighid Hallam.

"I was dancing," Tonks said with a smile, and went back to her work.


	10. Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets lonely, saving the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG (Lupin/Tonks)  
> Warnings: None

Remus was too exhausted to even go to bed, and Tonks knew the feeling. 

They were all tired. The Order had stepped up its activity -- they'd had to, since the Death Eaters were certainly stepping up theirs. There had been a rescue mission to get Moody out of a tight spot that not even constant vigilance could have forseen; then there was Narcissa, who had attempted to lay claim to Sirius' bank account and the house at Grimmauld Place, challenging Sirius' will which settled it all on Harry when he came of age. It hadn't worked, but it had wasted all their time fighting it. 

Remus, in addition, was looking for work, which was sometimes worse than actually working. And they'd had to give testimony at Lucius Malfoy's appeal hearing...

That had been difficult.

She hadn't liked the look of triumph on the faces of some of the Order, when they saw Malfoy; thin and worn, now, slightly crazed about the eyes, his deep face with its new lines and high, gaunt cheekbones looking remarkably like Sirius, even under now close-cropped white-blond hair. And Draco was there, a ploy of Narcissa's to gain court mercy, no doubt; Remus had been forced to testify, in front of his former student, against Draco's father. She didn't know the boy, but giving her own testimony against Lucius hadn't been easy either.

She hadn't liked the victorious glances when Malfoy was sent back to Azkaban. Surely anyone in Azkaban, no matter how depraved, deserved some measure of sympathy, or at least pity; surely the situation ought to at least be treated with sad respect, that such measures were necessary.

She liked even less, however, the tired, uncaring look on Remus' face. As if it simply didn't matter. She saw it too often these days. Inch by inch he was giving up. 

After the trial most of them had gone back to 12 Grimmauld Place, and Molly had puttered about fixing tea and scones; everyone stayed in the kitchen, clustering together against the thought of Azkaban and, always linked to it in their mind, the thought of Sirius. 

Everyone but Remus, Tonks noticed. 

She slipped away from the hushed conversation, and moved slowly into the living-room, noting the patched robe folded and laid neatly over the back of a chair, the scuffed but well-polished brown shoes next to one of the odd, mismatched pieces of furniture -- Sirius had made them move the stiff, brocade-covered furniture into the attic and replace it with things you could actually sit on.

Remus was lying on his side, back turned to the room, legs curled slightly so that he would fit on the red divan near the corner, his favourite. His shoulders moved slightly in a deep, slow rhythm that indicated sleep. 

Just enough energy to fold his robe and roll up his sleeves, she thought. Not quite enough to get upstairs. And not quite enough pride to worry about being seen napping in the living-room. 

She settled into the chair he'd hung his robe over, slowly and achingly. She was tired too; the Ministry was in a panic and she was doing double-shifts, plus Order work, which left hardly enough time to eat and sleep, let alone go out with friends, or read books, or even just sit quietly, like now. 

It was lonely, saving the world, and sometimes she wished she had even enough time to go out and get drunk and find someone to take home, because you couldn't live without touch and yet...she did. She was desperate to touch someone and mean it.

Remus snorted, and she smiled, watching him as he rolled over, ending up facedown, head slightly cocked, resting on his arm -- which dangled over the edge of the divan, deft fingers hanging loosely, looking almost disjointed without the tension of consciousness in them. His face still looked slightly worried, even in sleep, as though he were dreaming his way through a complex problem. 

The trouble with Remus was that he never got mad, never got upset, and never took anything the wrong way. He accepted everything that came, with a calm equanimity. There was the odd moment of surprise or confusion, but never anything akin to anger. When Sirius had died even Molly -- who didn't like him -- had wept, but Remus had instead scrounged up food, gone in search of those who hadn't heard, spoken to Dumbledore about what was to be done, informed all the proper people. She had seen him holding Harry back from the arch, face set, but only in the effort to restrain the younger man. 

She leaned back, sinking into the plush of the chair. 

There was nothing that you could tell him that would offend him. You could say you'd once gone werewolf hunting and he'd probably say "How interesting," and assume that you'd seen the error of your ways, or that there was some desperate psychological trouble in your soul, and it wasn't your fault. He never took anything amiss because he always assumed the best, with a sort of desperate hope that it would be true. He moved through life, allowing things to happen, cheerful but not foolish...

If she were to stand up and cross the room and curl up in his arms he wouldn't even wake, she was sure. And when he did he'd just move along and not think anything of it. 

She would, she decided, just make sure his collar wasn't cutting into his neck, sleeping like that.

She crouched, her face level with his, and tucked her fingers in it gently. She could feel his pulse with her knuckles. Not too tight. 

She stood. Perhaps she ought to make sure his shirt wasn't constricting his shoulder on the other side. That would require leaning over him.

He smelled like the courtroom, still, musty and overwarm, a tang of sweat, but underneath she could detect the cologne that Harry and Hermione and Ron had sent him for his birthday. She buried her face in the soft threadbare patch between his shoulders, and inhaled. 

He shifted, a little, but didn't wake; drew one arm up almost underneath him, his cheek rubbing against the fabric of his makeshift bed. His body tilted, almost an invitation to join him. 

She leaned one hand on the divan and tried to be graceful, but one of her feet stubbed against his trouser-leg as she joined him on the divan, and he inhaled sharply.

"Mm?" he muttered sleepily. "Tonks?"

She fit her cheek into the curve of his neck, flushing red with embarrassment. "Yes," she said simply. He let out a small sigh.

"Good," he said, trailing off into sleep once more, his body moving again, hips shifting to fit against hers, shoulders moving so that she could wrap one arm around, covering his hand with her fingers. 

Comfort, she told herself. That was all it was. She would rest here for a few minutes before waking him up and making him go upstairs to his bedroom. But in the meantime he needed to feel someone else's presence just as much as she did -- and it wasn't as if this was entirely comfortable for her. He was a firm presence, but also rather bony, shoulderblades pressing into her breasts just slightly. 

He was warm, though, warmer than he ought to be, and she felt her muscles relax. She traced the line of his fingers, closing her eyes. Just another minute, then she would wake him. Molly was saving him a scone...he should...they should eat...they should go upstairs...

They should...

It was her last conscious thought before Mad-Eye Moody woke her, hours later, to send her on her way to the Ministry for her evening shift. Remus didn't stir until late that night, and the next morning he wondered why his shirt smelled like citrus soap, the sort Tonks sometimes used.


	11. Black And Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yap challenged me to write a fanfic where Remus Lupin was a total and complete ass. I tried as best I could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

No room for me  
No company  
What did I do  
To be so black and blue?   
\-- Fats Waller

It was December, and snow was falling, and it was the last night before the full moon. 

Things howled and rattled in the Forbidden Forest. The Shrieking Shack, which once would have shook with, well, let's face it, shrieks, stood eerily silent. Late-comers to Hogsmeade ducked hurriedly into the pub for warm mulled cider, or went about their business, eager to get out of the chill.

And, up at Hogwarts on the hill, Severus Snape was creeping around the corner with his wand in one hand and an upraised candlestick in the other.

Someone was in his rooms.

It couldn't be a student. Not with the magical locks on the door and the hide-spell on its very location, installed after a student released two Bludgers into Professor Flitwick's bathroom once. Which meant that it was either someone very unsavoury indeed, or Dumbledore had seen fit to allow someone into his, Severus Snape's, rooms. Which Dumbledore would never do. 

He peered through the door to his bedroom. His clothing was strewn on the floor, but otherwise there didn't seem to be any -- 

Another one of his robes fluttered through the air to the ground. Gripping the candlestick tightly, he raised his wand and said "Hospes videndi!"

Someone came sliding out of the closet as if his shoes were greased. He didn't stop until he had whacked into Severus' bed with a "whoof"ing noise.

"You didn't have to do that!" Remus Lupin cried, pushing himself off the bed. "Merlin's ass cheeks, can't you just say "Who's there" like any normal person?"

"What are you doing here?" Snape asked, as Remus walked back into his closet. A green silk shirt he hadn't seen in years, let alone worn, came sailing out.

"Don't you wear anything but green and black?" Remus demanded, from the depths of his closet. Severus put the candlestick on his bedside table.

"Why are you in my rooms?" he growled. "And for that matter, how did you get in here?"

Remus leaned out, and glared. "For fuck's sake, don't you ever change your passwords? It was Tres Taberna when we came to school, it was Tres Taberna all through school..."

"I suppose I should have used Black's old password? What was it now, let me think...'Sexy Biznatch'?"

"He used Tergum Braccium for a while, too."

Snape, momentarily distracted, drew his eyebrows together. "Leather scissors?" he asked, incredulous.

"Leather trousers. Sirius wasn't very good at Latin, I'm afraid." A shirt that he didn't recognize was flung to the floor. Remus, now shirtless, leaned out again.

"Come on," he said impatiently, "I haven't got all day. You must have something other than swoopy black robes."

"You still have not explained to my satisfaction why you are in another teacher's rooms, destroying the order of his closet, and insulting his fashion sense."

"You're my size, and I needed some clothing. Do you not have any trousers that aren't black?"

"Why...?"

"I don't have any that aren't khaki," Remus sighed. "I am so bloody effing sick of khaki I could scream. Earth tones!" He made a disgusted noise. "Come on, I know you, you've got some Levi's hidden here somewhere. For when you go to London."

"And why would I have...Levi's?" Snape asked.

"Because you think riding the Muggle underground is fun and you can't do that if you don't blend in -- AHA!"

Snape put a hand over his face as Remus emerged, triumphant, carrying a pair of very tattered blue jeans and a black linen shirt with silver pinstripes. "Bit of a clothes horse, aren't you, Severus?" he added.

"This is an outrage," Snape said, as Remus tried on the shirt. It was a little broad in the chest, but he didn't seem to care. "Don't you dare -- " he turned away as Remus shed his own (khaki) trousers, and pulled on the jeans. 

"Ta, Severus," Remus said, lacing up a pair of black boots, and turned to go. Snape caught him by the arm.

"This close to the full moon," he said, through clenched teeth, "You should be lying in your room, sick as, if you will excuse the expression, a dog, bemoaning your fate. And yet you are, instead, stealing my clothing."

"It's not like this was a panty raid, for -- "

"Did you take the potion?"

Remus rolled his eyes. 

"Did you, Lupin?"

"Yes! I took the damn potion! Now sod off!" he snarled, pulling away. "Just because you can't find anything better to do on a Friday night than sulk -- "

"Then why are you acting like an ass?"

Remus jabbed him in the stomach, and when he doubled over, knocked his feet out from under him. "Thanks for the clothes. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't let the floor hit you that hard again," he added, as he ran up the stairs and out of the dungeon. Snape, curled up in pain, pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, thoughtfully. 

***

Remus Lupin wanted to find someone and pick a fight. He wanted to howl at the moon, even in human shape. He wanted to run through the snow until he caught a small fluffy furry animal and ate it raw. 

He settled for the pub, because there was a dearth of small fluffy furry edible animals in the Forbidden Forest. Besides, he also wanted to chase down a woman or two, and maybe pick another fight, and bite things. 

But first he wanted another butterbeer. 

Madam Rosmerta, who tended bar at the little Hogsmeade pub, put the mug down in front of him and grinned. "Going incognito tonight, Professor?" she asked. He lifted his head to look at her, slowly.

"Something like that," he replied, with a suddenly lazy grin. "Have a drink with me?"

Rosmerta looked around the pub, which was mostly empty, and nodded. "Back in a moment," she said, and returned as promised, with a mug of her own. 

"Quiet tonight," he continued, fingers resting on the rim of his glass. He could smell her. She smelled like something he wanted.

"Busy, before you came in. Most folks wanted an early start home," she replied. "How's things up on the hill?"

"Oh...about the same," he replied. He gave her a grin that Sirius Black had taught him years ago, and was rewarded with a tinge of pink on her cheeks. "The children don't seem to like Divination much, but it's hardly my concern if Trelawney's a daft old bird."

"Now, now," Rosmerta murmured. "I'm sure she does fine."

"I can read a palm better than she can read a book," Remus answered. "Here, I'll show you."

He lifted Rosmerta's right hand off of her glass, and traced the lines delicately with his thumb. 

"What do you see?" she asked with a smile. He rubbed his thumb on her wrist.

"You're in for good fortune," he said quietly, so that she had to lean in to hear him. "You're going to meet someone -- soon -- who's going to change your fortunes completely."

She lifted one eyebrow. "And...?"

"Wealth, love, fame, it's all here," he lied, lips drawing back over even white teeth. "If you're willing to...grasp it."

The other eyebrow lifted. "Are you all right, Remus?" she asked. 

"Am I?" he shot back. 

"I think maybe you've had enough butterbeer for -- "

He pulled her across the table, gripping her wrist tightly, and kissed her. 

About six minutes later, he was lying in the snow, bruised and slightly cold and more than slightly damp, wondering just how Rosmerta had used that one move on him without his noticing...

He heard footsteps passing the alleyway, and saw Snape's trademark billowing cloak swirl around his ankles as he stopped at the door of the pub. He could hear Rosmerta call out an inquiry, and Snape reply that he was looking for something he'd lost, and not to worry. The Potions Master's boots crunched onward.

Remus snarled. Rosmerta was going to pay for this. 

But first -- 

Just about at eye level, in the tattery woods behind the pub, a hare was nibbling at the roots of a shrub. Remus watched, fascinated. He moved through the snow slowly, reaching out a hand to grab what would amount to a nice, tasty meal once he'd knocked Rosmerta unconscious, and spitted it over her cooking-fire in the kitchen of the pub...

Fast as lightning -- faster -- an enormous black dog came bolting out of the undergrowth, after the hare, who took off in a flurry of powdery snow. Remus growled, and the dog, whose jaws had snapped mere inches from the hare's ears, skidded to a stop. It took it a while; the ground was damp and slippery. When it finally turned, Remus had hauled himself up into a crouch. 

"Bad dog," he said, in a soft, dangerous tone. The dog cocked its head at him. "I think you need a choke-chain -- "

The dog lunged first, hitting him in the chest and knocking him backwards. He grunted, gasping for breath, and by the time he'd caught it --

"What the hell do you think you're doing out here, you bloody damn fool?" a voice asked. Remus' eyes widened.

"Sirius!" he cried. 

"Shut up shut up! Do you want the whole village to hear you?"

"Then stop sitting on my chest!"

Sirius Black rolled off of the other man, and stood, pulling him to his feet. His hair was a mess, his clothing in rags; Remus realised that he was not, himself, the picture of cleanliness. 

"Snape's looking all over the village for you," Sirius growled. Remus wrinkled his lip.

"That sod," he said carelessly. "What do I care if he's looking for me? Probably wants his jeans back."

"Listen, I heard him talking to someone in the square. There's something wrong with you, Remus. He's worried."

"Nothing's wrong with me, you should talk, fugitive from the law. Hey, let's go catch that hare," Remus started past him, but Sirius put a hand on his shoulder.

"If I have to, I'll knock you cold," he said, in a low growl.

"Like to see you try, you big git!" Remus replied. He saw Sirius' eyes flick down to his pocket, but Sirius was faster; before he knew it, the other man had grabbed his wand and was pointing it at his neck. "Locomoto Mortis," he whispered, and caught Remus around the waist as the other man's legs collapsed beneath him. "The old classics," he said approvingly, hoisting Remus over his shoulder.

"Put me down! If you think I'm going to -- "

"Do shut up, Remus."

"I hate you."

"Twelve years in Azkaban and this is the welcome I get," Sirius sighed. "You don't hate me, you got something wrong with your potion. I heard Snape say so."

"Nothing's wrong with the potion! Not even a full moon. I'm not a wolf, am I? Dog boy?"

"Depends on your definition of the term. You were looking awfully hungrily at that hare." Sirius was marching through the snow, now, towards the road that led out of Hogsmeade, up to the school. "I'm leaving you on the road, Snape's bound to find you there. You're damn lucky you got off so lightly. Next thing you know you'd have taken a swing at Dumbledore -- "

"Ha! I would, too!"

"What did he give you in that potion," Sirius muttered, leaning Remus up against a signpost and binding him magically to it. He muttered another incantation, and Remus felt warmth wash over him. Sirius stepped back and looked at him, arms crossed.

"You'll stay warm until Snape finds you. Don't forget your wand's over here," he added, sticking it a few feet away, in the dirt. Remus growled.

"You've no right at all," he said, angrily. "There's nothing at all the matter with me. You father of all sods."

Sirius grinned. "Good to see you too, Remus."

"Fuck you!"

"I'm afraid not. However..." Sirius leaned in close, until his eyes were level with Remus'. "I think it's not likely that you're going to remember a lot of this. I'm not going to Obliviate you, but I might..."

Remus felt Sirius' breath in his ear, and heard him murmur "stupefy".

Then he didn't feel anything for quite a while.

***

He woke in the infirmary. 

This was never a good place to wake up. 

His memories caught up with him in about ten seconds, and they were not good memories to wake up to.

He hadn't really...and said that about khaki, he liked khaki...and no, he couldn't have -- not to Snape, of all people, nobody deserved an elbow in the ribs like that.

Oh, dear, and it was going to be awfully hard to get a decent drink in the pub after this.

But that couldn't have really been Sirius, could it? He must have dreamed that part. Sirius was a follower of Voldemort, why on Earth would he save him? 

Remus groaned, and covered his face in his hands. Nearby, he heard footsteps. 

"So you're awake," said Snape's voice. Remus nodded beneath his hands. "Feeling a bit less excitable, are we?"

"I'm so sorry, Severus..." he murmured. 

"For which part? The breaking-and-entering, the insults, the physical assault, or the fact that I spent hours in the snow trying to find you?"

"Everything," Remus said, behind his hands. "Except the thing about your robes. They really are ridiculously swoopy."

"Note taken," Snape said dryly. "Would you like to hear what happened?"

"No."

"I've smoothed things over with Rosmerta for you."

"How did you manage that?"

"Obliviate spell." 

Remus groaned again.

"Well, nothing else worked. I lose my patience quickly with that woman," Snape continued. "When I finally did find you, trussed to a signpost like a Christmas goose -- "

"To a what?"

"Someone," Snape said, in a low voice, "Bound you up with about three different spells, which I must say is probably what it would have taken to hold you, and attached you to the signpost leading out of Hogsmeade for me to find." 

Remus caught his breath. It can't have been Sirius, it can't have, I must have...Rosmerta punched me pretty hard, I was delusional...that's all...

"No sign of who?" he asked softly. Snape shrugged. "And you're all right?"

"Broken rib. Fortunately, I'm not too bad with healing spells, when it comes to bones," he said. 

"Why...did I do all those horrible things..."

"What did you have for dinner last night?" Snape asked. Remus looked at him, through his fingers.

"Just the usual, what everyone had. Oh, and a couple of chocolates, in my office," he added, as an afterthought. Snape sighed.

"Chocolate," he muttered. "No good, no good at all."

"I thought you said sugar just made it useless if it was added?"

"Sugar, yes. Chocolate...changes things. Body chemistry. I should have warned you. On the other hand, you should know better than to eat for an hour before taking it." Snape looked at him intently. "Still, interesting. There may be a paper in it."

"Severus, we are discussing my dignity or loss thereof, and you're talking about writing me up for a journal?" Remus asked, in disbelief. Snape smiled nastily.

"I'll change your name," he promised, and swooped out the door. Madam Pomfrey appeared, carrying various horrible concoctions to make him feel better. 

As he sipped, he thought, Right, Severus Snape. Now I know. But that doesn't mean that some time, when I want to cut loose, I won't do it again...


	12. Civilised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus understand what it means to be human, because he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late   
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,   
And the green freedom of a cockatoo   
Upon a rug, mingle to dissipate   
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.  
\-- Wallace Stevens 

Remus Lupin took an amazing number of people to his bed, all things considered.

Not that he ever slept with them. Or, with a waggle of the eyebrows, slept with them. But the house at 12 Grimmauld Place had no shortage of damaged souls who needed a gentle word, needed hands that already knew grief. 

There was Harry, who had nightmares that were not of his own devising; he liked the warmth of Remus' recently-vacated bed, and the fact that the nightmares seemed less with the other man asleep in a nearby chair. Remus was not his father nor his godfather...but he was enough. Thank god, he was enough.

For a while there had been Sirius, who sometimes dreamed of Azkaban and wanted whole, untattered blankets, heaps of them, which was how Remus liked things, and so Sirius sometimes ended up, somehow, in Remus' bed. When it happened Remus paced until dawn, or made tea, or sat and read, because sleeping too many nights in the chair made him sore.

Molly Weasley, the night after the boggart attack, came to his room because he'd understood her fears and he'd vanquished the boggart that afternoon, and they spoke for hours. When she was finally asleep he fetched Arthur because, well, it wouldn't do to have a married woman sleeping in his bed without her husband's knowledge. Arthur was remarkably understanding.

Ginny still had nightmares. She liked how soft his blankets were. Tom's thoughts had been all rough edges and snagging sharp places, like unfiled, nibbled fingernails, and years later she still liked soft things -- his well-worn shirts, his blankets, his soothing touch on her forehead. 

Hermione was sometimes just plain lonely, and sought the company of someone who understood what it was like to be bookish amongst extroverts. She almost never stayed to sleep, but they would sometimes talk all night, her sitting crosslegged on the foot of his bed, listening to stories of his time before he taught at Hogwarts, and telling him stories about herself and the boys. 

Remus Lupin had a family to look after, and he liked it, even if it made him tired from pacing and sore from sleeping in the chair and once in a while made him cranky, because it seemed like he spent less time in his bed than anyone else did. You had to be subtle to notice that, though.

He only ever leaned on Tonks because she was strong too, and because she'd never needed his blankets and pillows. Tonks was an Auror, Tonks was young and a little rebellious and had cool pink hair. She never had nightmares, never showed weakness, and she was easier to depend on than the silent, imposing Kingsley Shacklebolt. So she saw the stiffness in his neck, the mild irritation in his eyes when Ginny and Ron shouted too loudly or Hermione was being particularly bossy, and she sent him off for a walk for a few hours, or took care of the dishes -- breaking as many as she cleaned -- or something similar. 

He'd be glad when the summer was over. Then he could have his bed back. The children would be at school, and Sirius was...was gone, and those were the people he'd had to care for the most. 

"Remus?"

He struggled up out of sleep and opened his eyes to a world of shadow and white. For a moment he almost started back; he used to have dreams where the moon was a woman and came to him in his sleep, and all he saw was a ghostly white -- 

"Ginny?" he asked sleepily. He pushed himself up on one elbow. "Are you okay?"

She gave him a shy nod, and stood, hapless, in the middle of his room. She was wearing white pyjama bottoms and, he noticed, one of his worn old shirts, probably stolen out of the drawer. The shirt was so thin as to be almost falling apart, but that made it soft, and he knew she liked the way the collars brushed her neck. 

He reckoned Ginny might have a bit of a crush on him, but that was all right, some of the girls had, when he taught at Hogwarts, and he found it wore off soon enough. He sat up and pushed the covers away. 

"Bad dreams?"

Another shy nod. 

"Come here," he ordered, standing, and gave her a brief hug before moving away from the bed. She climbed into it, silently, and he pulled the covers up over her, deftly separating out her favourite. She rubbed her cheek against his pillow. 

"I stole your shirt," she whispered.

"It's fine, I've others. Keep it," he added. "You know we could put these blankets on your bed -- all the blankets you want, Ginny."

She hunched under the blankets. "I like it here."

He picked up a book and sat down in the chair, stealing the very top blanket because the night was cold and his flannel pyjamas were wearing thin. "Ginny..."

"Yes?"

"Can I ask why?"

She closed her eyes, and for a minute he thought she'd dropped off. Then she inhaled deeply.

"Smells like you," she said, already half-gone.

He reached out and stroked her cheek, entirely fatherly, though he saw one day she was going to break hearts (probably Harry's, for a start). Why the smell of him -- which he knew was composed mainly of cheap soap, dust, and usually a little smoke from the fireplace -- why should that be so comforting?

Perhaps because she knew she was too old to crawl into her parents' bed at night, far too old; he should probably send her back to her own, but...

A thought occurred to him, and he rose, silently, donning his dressing-gown and closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. The hallway was dim, but he knew the way; he'd spent too many nights wandering towards the library not to know the path. He avoided the hall table, the banister of the stairs, and the open door to the bathroom, all potential hip-bruisers, and pushed the big heavy library doors open just enough to slip through. 

The one thing he had not allowed Sirius to throw out were the books. Every book was valuable, even the ones that were full of hate and filth, because they taught a lesson in what not to think. Remus loved the written word, and though Sirius had objected, they'd kept the books.

The Blacks had a large library on Dark creatures, mostly useless but sometimes helpful. He found what he was looking for in the second shelf from the last -- three volumes on werewolves, the seminal work. Myth, Science, and -- here he shuddered -- Solution.

Myth was merely a collection of old stories from around the world, Greek werewolves, Russian werewolves, old fragments of Muggle classics, urban myths, even a mention of one or two Muggle films -- the books had been updated in the 1980's, and this edition must have been purchased the same year Mrs. Black died, insane and bigoted to the end. 

Solution was...horrifying to read, the suggestions of what ought to be done to werewolves, how they ought to be studied and controlled. 

Science was, true to its name, remarkably objective (it was what made Solution all the worse). A systematic listing of everything known about werewolf biology and behaviour, in both forms. It was here he went, and to the index in the back.

Scent.

Although more empirical tests are necessary, it has been put forth as a theory that, due to the uncontrollable nature of the Changed werewolf, the Mortal werewolf may exert more self-control on a biological level than Humans. This may account for an increased consciousness of the body which lends itself to increased strength and speed so characteristic of a normal, healthy Mortal werewolf. This may also mean that a Mortal werewolf may produce calming chemicals in the blood, to make up for the inner instinct of the Changed werewolf still contained in the Mortal body. 

A Mortal werewolf may produce endorphines at a higher rate than Humans, inclining them towards endorphine-producing foods such as chocolate and some forms of chile. Mortal werewolves may also exude pheremones which, like the sexual pheremones of animals, may be indetectable but effective not only in calming themselves but others as well. The presence of a Mortal werewolf may have a slight soothing effect on those around them.

Well.

A textbook case, then. 

He sighed. In a madhouse like this, no wonder everyone came to him. Walking, talking aromatherapy.

"Kicked out, huh?"

He jerked up from the book and away from the bookshelf, startled. He'd been so wrapped up in the text he hadn't even noticed Tonks, leaning against a table, backlit by the huge library windows. 

"Ginny was having nightmares," he said with a smile. "What're you doing here at this hour?"

"Just got back from a mission, and Kingsley wanted to check up on everyone. He was a little surprised to find Ginny where he did. I told him it was a thing. He wanted me to make sure you were around."

"He doesn't think I'd take advantage of a fifteen-year-old girl, does he?" Remus asked.

"Not after I told him you did the same for Harry and Hermione." She smiled. "And I'm pretty sure he thinks you haven't enough energy to be seducing three teenagers."

"I haven't enough energy to be seducing anyone," he sighed, closing the book and re-shelving it. Fully awake after being startled, he began to experience the odd nausea that comes from the body knowing it ought to be asleep. "I'm going to have something to eat," he said. "Are you for home, or...?"

"It's late enough, I thought I'd stay here," she said, following him through the stacks. "Looking for a little light reading?"

"Doing some midnight research," he replied, as they left the library and descended the stairs. He heard her laugh a little, behind him. "What?"

"Is there ever a time you're not being useful?" she asked, and he turned his head to regard her when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"If you were me, would you spend much time without something to occupy your thoughts?" he inquired. She nodded, gravely.

"Perhaps not," she said. "But I think you should at least be allowed to sleep without having to serve the Order."

"I don't mind it," he replied, pushing the kitchen door open and holding it for her. She gestured him through and followed him, and he shrugged. "They need the sleep more than I do. They're young, still growing."

"Well, if it were me I'd give them a sleeping potion and send them off to their own bed."

"Some things can't be solved with sleeping potions," he replied, taking down two plates. "Toast?"

"Please."

"Tea's herbal, won't keep you awake."

She nodded. "And these problems of the children's, they can be solved by you sacrificing your own sleep?"

He put four slices of bread in the toaster and tapped it twice with his wand, removing them before they could burn. She buttered them while he prepared the tea. 

"It's a sacrifice I make willingly. It helps me feel..." he paused.

"Feel...?"

"Human."

"But you are human." She saw his look, and waved it off irritably. "You know what I mean."

"I don't define my humanity intrinsically, Tonks, I don't have that luxury."

She looked at him, baffled. "What do you mean?"

"You take for granted that you are human, with human emotions, instincts, traits. It's a natural action for one human to reach out to another -- humans are pack animals," he said, with a trace of irony in his voice, as he turned two teacups over and put teabags into them. "Werewolves are not."

"But wolves -- "

"Werewolves are not wolves," he said firmly, picking up the kettle. "So I take nothing for granted, and define myself in other ways."

"Such as?" she asked, mystified. He shrugged.

"I affirm my humanity in every act I do that is not the act of the wolf," he said, filling the kettle with water. "I didn't realise I was doing it for a long time. A Changed werewolf would bite and snarl, so even when I am sorely tried and tempted, I am...polite. A werewolf would attack himself if no other target presented, so I try..." he sighed, "to put on a good apperance. And a werewolf would never allow a stranger into their territory. So..." he tapped the kettle with his wand, and steam rose. "I take in anyone who requires it. Regardless of friendship, intimacy. I am conscious of my natural human acts," he concluded, as he poured. "They remind me what I am."

"What are you?" she asked.

"Civilised," he replied, and offered her the tea.


	13. You That Have Whetted Consciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is trying to see Lupin, but Lupin is still trying to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: Some gore, brief discussion of canonical character death.

It shouldn't take this long -- Harry figures Hermione already knows it -- but he realises one day that he's never seen Lupin. 

Not really. 

It's the summer after fifth year, horrifying fifth year, and Harry comes to Grimmauld Place missing Sirius -- missing, missing, missing, though he only had a year and a half to know him, really know him. If Hermione misses Sirius, she doesn't show it, but Hermione has become strangely adept at showing nothing. Ron might, but Ron, Harry has realised, is vaguely self-centred. It's not annoying, but it's come to his attention. He wonders if he is the same, sometimes. 

The adults are like Hermione, closed off from Harry and his grief as if afraid to touch it, because he knows most of them didn't like Sirius and are horrified at themselves to find they're relieved he's gone. 

Lupin, whom Harry has always thought was the epitome of self-control, often leaves dinner if Sirius or the Blacks are mentioned; not storming out as Harry would have done had he been more energetic in his grief, but quietly folding his napkin with a peculiar, withdrawn expression on his face, and taking his plate to the sink before departing. Molly hasn't time to worry about Lupin; she has children of her own to worry about. Kingsley and Arthur and Moody all say to let him alone, which is probably wise. Tonks is too young to know what to do, and Snape too alienated even if he wanted to do something. Dumbledore dispenses platitudes about time healing wounds, which Harry has trouble believing in, now, just like he has trouble believing in Dumbledore himself. 

Lupin sometimes leaves meetings, too, but usually on some pretext -- an urgent call to a mission, or checking on the children (Harry and his friends are still The Children, which rankles him deeply). 

This isn't why Harry has taken to watching Lupin, though. He watches Lupin because he desperately wants to be closer to him, to learn that quiet self-control that doesn't kill all emotion like some. He wants to hear someone tell him stories about his parents and if Lupin dies most of those stories die with him. He wants to be a good wizard, and Lupin is the best wizard he knows. 

Watching Lupin, he uncovers the man's secrets slowly. Even when working in the back-garden, planting summer vegetables and flowers that are sturdy enough the malevolent estate won't kill them, Lupin wears long-sleeved shirts, high collars, trousers or old worn jeans, though he has no trouble going barefoot. He sweats because of it, but no-one ever sees more than a glimpse of wrist or throat or ankle. 

The clothes themselves are camoflauge; not baggy, as one would think, merely to hide what Harry discovers is an unhealthily thin body. No, Lupin mastered that and moved onwards to a higher art of concealment. His clothes give a sense of bigness to him, make him seem larger than he is -- he pulls it off because he's tall, Harry suspects, taller than Sirius or Professor Snape or even Dumbledore. His clothes make him look ten, twenty pounds heavier, most of the time, which brings him up to just about the weight he ought to be. The slouch helps, too. Harry didn't realise he was taller than Dumbledore until he saw him reaching for the top of the back-garden wall, once, fingers crawling up the stone; body fully extended, he gripped the top and pulled himself up, crouching on the ledge of the wall -- apparently, for no other reason than to see what might be seen. 

Crouched that way, eyes searching for something, Lupin looked like Harry imagined he did at school -- happier, full of mischief like his father and Sirius, young. James was twenty-one when he died, which means -- adding Harry's age onto that, less one -- Lupin is only in his thirties to begin with. Everyone his father's age looks older; Snape from bitterness, Sirius from prison, Lupin from his disease. A wrecked generation, Harry will think later, though for now he merely thinks it weird.

Harry doesn't know Lupin's birthday, though he'd like to. It must be during the school year, otherwise surely someone at Grimmauld Place would mention it. 

He wants to be seen watching him. Harry wants to be noticed by Lupin, he wants him to take Harry under his wing, but of course Lupin has no obligation to Harry; not father or godfather, though he was kind to him at school. Lupin has no reason to pay Harry special attention. 

Harry wants it all the same, he just doesn't know how to ask without being forward and strange. 

One day, in early August -- this year Harry was allowed to come to Grimmauld Place sooner, lest he try to run away and get there on his own -- Lupin comes to the door with Tonks in his arms, limp and bleeding in a dozen places. Harry is the only one around, since Ron and Hermione have a distressing habit of vanishing together and nobody else will stay at Grimmauld Place if they can at all help it. 

He lingers in the kitchen doorway while Lupin eases her into a chair and begins efficiently taking down medical supplies from one of the cupboards. Lupin has no shirt on, as shocking for him as nudity would be for anyone else; his shirt is torn into pieces, Harry sees, and wrapped around Tonks' right arm and leg. 

"Remus?" Harry ventures. They're allowed to call him that now, and the name comes easily after practice, but it was awkward at first. 

"Harry? You're good with your hands, come help me," Lupin answers, gesturing to Tonks as he unpacks a box of gauze wrap and three types of potion, each in plain plastic bottles inscribed with their contents and S. Snape below. "Get those rags off her, would you?"

"Sure," Harry says, accepting a pair of kitchen shears and cutting the knots, unwrapping the wounds as gently as he can. Tonks makes pained noises, but she doesn't complain as loudly as Harry would. 

"There was a bit of a fight," Remus adds, by way of explanation. "Nymphadora, are you conscious?"

"Fuck you," comes the faint reply, as Harry begins unwrapping her leg, pushing aside the tattered robe-end and ripped trousers underneath. Remus is examining her arm, bending the elbow clinically, testing each of the fingers.

"Come on, Tonks, that's no way to talk to your ministering angels," Remus says gently, and Harry gathers up the shredded shirtpieces, shoving them to one side. Remus gives him a quick nod.

"If you're not squeamish, you might stay and learn something," he says. Harry eyes Tonks' arm; from elbow to wrist it's nothing more than shredded flesh, and he thinks he sees bone. He swallows bile and nods.

"If you think you're going to throw up, Harry -- "

"I'm fine," Harry says. A bare glance of approval, all that can be spared, and Remus casts a numbing charm; Tonks sighs with relief. 

"This is going to feel particularly odd, Tonks."

Harry watches as Remus enchants his own hand, then begins to slowly pick apart the strips of flesh, finding the origin of each slash and realigning the skin and muscle, as though he's assembling a frayed rope. He smooths his thumb down each piece as it's put back in its proper place, and it stays there; Harry watches fresh blood fill the injured sinew. In some places, the skin heals together again, leaving a faint darkish scar. 

Not unlike, Harry realises, the ones that criscross Remus' chest and upper arms, the sides of his ribcage, his back. Not all of them are claw-marks; there are white lines across his shoulders where the wolf presses through, and down his arms as well. Harry looks, cautiously, for a bite-mark, but it must be elsewhere; on running prey, a wolf will go for the legs, he recalls.

For all he's thin, and Harry knew that, Remus has muscle like ropes under his skin, holding him together. He has a very efficient-looking sort of body, aside from the scars. 

There are some places Remus can't heal Tonks, or the skin has been too-long-dead; he has Harry pass him the green potion, more of a salve really, and rubs it efficiently into the gaping gashes before wiping his hands on one of the rags, and reaching for the gauze. 

"Arm's done, Tonks," he murmurs. Her leg is less badly hurt, and only the calf needs any real attention. It's short work, and then he sits back on his heels.

"Harry, will you wrap that, please?" he asks, and Harry accepts the gauze, working as he'd seen Remus do, slowly so that it doesn't bunch or wrinkle, tightly enough that it'll support the muscle. He realises Remus has been talking the whole time, to Harry, telling him what he was doing and why. He also realises this has little to do with him and everything to do with Remus remaining calm in the face of a difficult, blood-soaked task.

"All right, Tonks," Remus says, lifting her head gently so that she looks at him, and he can make sure she understands. "You can go upstairs and sleep for a while, or we can take you to St. Mungo's. If we do, there are going to be a lot of uncomfortable questions. If we don't, you may scar."

"I don't scar," she said faintly. 

"All right, upstairs it is. I can take her, Harry, have yourself a rest for a bit."

Remus vanishes up the stairs, this time with her arm over his shoulder instead of carrying her, and Harry stands in the kitchen, wondering what to do with himself. He finds he's breathing fast; now that the urgency has worn off, he's allowed to panic. That's nice.

He asks himself what Remus would be doing, and promptly begins tidying up, disposing of the rags in a bucket along with the remains of the gauze, too little to use on anything, and the bits of robe and trouser Remus tore off while he was fixing Tonks' leg. He fetches a shirt from his room, one of his less hideous hand-me-downs, and gets a butterbeer out of the chilled cold-foods cupboard, along with some soup. 

He can't heat the soup, he realises, since he's not allowed to do magic and the stove in the kitchen requires wood, but he sets it out anyway and uncaps the butterbeer. 

Footsteps on the stairs, and Remus' voice. 

"She's sleeping, so she'll be all right -- " he pauses at the bottom, and Harry wonders if he's been a little too helpful, seemed a little too desperate to please, as Remus' eyes fall on the butterbeer and the soup. 

"Bless you, Harry," he says, and Harry warms with the approval. "Are you eating? Yes? Good, come sit and...oh, it's cold, of course." A quick flick of a wand, and the soup steams. "Inconvenient, the Restriction...here we are." He drops into a chair, looking as tired as Tonks did, and takes the first pull of butterbeer from the bottle, though Harry has set down a glass for him. Harry eats his soup, watching as Remus fills the glass.

"I appreciate the help, Harry. I checked her leg -- the wrapping was fine. You remember that spell when you're out of school. More than once, it's quite literally saved my hide. But," he adds, slouching forward over his soup, "It does rather drain a person."

"I brought you a shirt," Harry says quietly, indicating the folded plaid shirt with a tilt of his head. He's still as embarrassed as if Remus were walking around naked. The scars that run as far up as his throat are something Harry thinks few people see. "It's mine, but I got it from Dudley so it ought to fit you."

"Oh -- thanks. Thanks very much," Remus says, suddenly self-conscious as he reaches for the shirt and pulls it around his shoulders. Even on a fully-grown man, Dudley's shirts are almost too big. "That was thoughtful of you."

They eat in silence, mainly. Harry can feel the weariness on the other man, and lets him be, wondering if he shouldn't take his food elsewhere. Remus draws a breath, and sips his beer again.

"I used to nick shirts off your father, at school," he says quietly, his voice strangely subdued. "For a long time we were the same size, and then in sixth year suddenly they didn't fit anymore -- he used to complain I stretched the shoulders on them. It was peculiar for me to realise I was bigger than James. He filled a room with his presence."

"Oh," Harry answers, drinking in the details, though the last few words bring Snape's pensieve memories to mind. Remus sees it, he must; he eats another spoonful of soup, and continues.

"It wasn't all arrogance, either; especially after fifth year. He realised he was mortal and he could make mistakes, and since I was now bigger than him, if I chose to I could shake him like a terrier," he says with a small grin. "And did, once or twice. It was good for him. Your mother never would have paid him any mind otherwise."

Harry grins back, a little.

"I did worry about them when you were born -- they were young to be parents, James especially, but he had honestly changed. Something few people do, after the age of fifteen or so. I didn't change much. Nor did Sirius," he adds, regretfully. Harry is silent; it's the first time he's heard Remus say his godfather's name.

"I should have come for you," Remus says, seeming to forge ahead, while he rises to rummage in the cupboard for another butterbeer. "By the time I'd heard about it, you were already with the Dursleys, and...do you want one?"

"No, thank you," Harry answers, trying to keep his voice from cracking. Remus returns to the table, and Harry wonders if he's even going to continue, or if he's been distracted. 

"I should have," Remus finally muses. "But I had lost my whole world, all my friends, in one fell blow...I was never any good at making friends."

"Your students liked you," Harry points out quickly. 

"Yes -- that's a bit different, though. It doesn't matter, anyhow. I didn't think of you when I should have, and I couldn't really have done anything at any rate...but it wouldn't have hurt to try. I'm sorry about that, Harry. Especially knowing you now."

Harry studies his soup. "Dumbledore wouldn't have let you do anything anyway."

"That's very true. There's a limit to what we can do for you even now. It won't always be this way, Harry."

"No, just through school."

"It seems like an eternity now, I grant you."

"Yeah."

And another silence, before Harry looks up to see Remus studying him, almost curiously.

"If you liked, Harry," he says, looking oddly hestiant, "That is, I'm not your father or Sirius, and I really have no right to your time or attention at all -- but if you liked, if you wanted someone to sort of...if you need a NEWTs tutor...though Hermione would probably be better, she'll have read all sorts of books about the NEWTs, I did when I was her age..."

"You'd be my tutor?" Harry asks, trying not to sound over-eager.

"Yes...or...well, McGonagall's a good teacher but she doesn't make a terribly good mentor. There are a lot of...erm...see, a growing lad likes another man to talk to, doesn't he?"

Harry wonders if the question on the end was a rhetorical flourish, or a real question; it's hard to tell. 

"Just...I can see all the questions you want to ask, Harry, and if you want to ask me, you could," Remus says, weakly. "I can't promise I'd be able to answer them, but at least you'll know someone thinks about you more often than to wonder if they shouldn't check to make sure you're still eating properly."

Harry looks away before Remus can see the flush on his cheeks. As much as he likes the idea, he's unused to the attention -- attention in that way, from someone who considers him a person and not a symbol.

"I'd like that, I guess," he says.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Well. That's good then," Remus says, clearing his throat. "Is there...anything you did want to talk about?"

Harry bites his lip. 

"My dad and mum," he says softly. "I don't know anything about them, really...bits here and there, that's all. If...if you can. I'd like to know what they were like. Really, I mean. I don't care if they weren't perfect, I just want to know."

Remus nods, eyes darkening slightly. "That I can tell you," he says. "You deserve that much." 

He exhales, apparently thinking, and then sets his soup aside. Even fully clothed, he suddenly seems naked in front of Harry, but neither of them are ashamed, now. 

"I met your father before Hogwarts, in a shop just off of Diagon Alley, when we were nine or ten..."


	14. I Won't Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius finds a brother, but not in the way he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: Discussion of child abuse and portrayal of its effects. 
> 
> This was originally a drabble; I've put that first, with the longer fic after.

He always changed alone; they thought, idly, that it was modesty. 

Sirius, returning for a forgotten quill, saw Lupin shirtless one morning, and gasped aloud. Over the thin back was a network of scars, gouges on shoulders and around ribs. Remus turned, startled, and they continued -- up his arms, across his stomach, raised white marks. 

He was only twelve years old. 

Sirius looked up to Lupin's face, saw his terror. 

"It's all right," he whispered. 

He lifted his own shirt, turning to display his father's indelible punishments. Lupin traced them with his hand. 

"I won't tell," they said, in unison.

* * *

When Remus was younger this had all been much simpler. 

He was living at home; there was never a need to undress in front of others. He never went shirtless in the summer like the other children; the parents passed word around to each other that he was sensitive to the sun. They never seemed to consider that his face and legs, his arms and hands, were all as brown as any other child's. He had liked swimming, but now that was forbidden to him unless it was in deep water. Sometimes he saw pictures of Australian surfers in books -- he liked the Muggle magazine National Geographic -- and envied their sleek black wetsuits. 

He had been so careful since coming to Hogwarts. He used cleaning charms taught to him by his parents, instead of washing with the other boys; he didn't play Quidditch which precluded the notion of locker rooms. He changed in the awkward but private enclosure of the curtains around his bed. Nobody seemed to notice, and he quickly came to the realisation that most children -- children who didn't have to worry about getting Caught -- were incredibly self-absorbed. 

He noticed other children in order to keep from being noticed. 

Even then, you could only be so careful before fate conspired against you.

He had come up to change after dinner; when the moon was waxing this full, the school uniforms irritated him and he wanted his old comfortable worn shirts and trousers; looser, less stiff than what he wore during the day. He wished the wolf were like that; wished that instead of a punishment it was an escape. All he really wanted...he would not even hope for a cure or to be fully human again...all he really wanted was that when he Changed he could curl up as the wolf and sleep until it was over.

His tie was off, and since no-one else was around, he didn't have to change behind the curtains. He shrugged the shirt down his arms, rolling his shoulders as he did so, and heard his neck pop in several places. 

Then he heard another noise.

A small gasp of surprise.

He whirled, and there was Sirius Black, one of the Cool Kids, standing in the doorway. They knew each other, of course; they'd shared a dormitory for five months now. But Sirius was loud and brash, friends with James Potter, and was definitely the one person in the entire world that painfully shy Remus Lupin wanted to avoid. 

He clutched the shirt up over his shoulders again, pulling it tight around his ribcage, but it was too late; he could tell Sirius had seen the scars running around his ribs, over his shoulders, anywhere that wolf claws or teeth could reach. The other boy was staring at him.

"Well?" Remus asked, almost defiantly. "Need something?"

Sirius put out a hand, then pulled it back when Remus flinched away. He waited for the taunt to come; instead, Sirius tilted his head slightly, and touched his fingers to his lips as if studying a particularly difficult problem. 

"It's all right," he said finally. "I mean. It's fine by me. I don't care."

"Dunno what you're talking about," Remus muttered.

"The -- you know. It's okay," Sirius stammered. Remus watched as he reached up for his own tie, pulling it loose, tossing it down on the ground. He unbuttoned his robe and shirt and pulled them off together, Remus still transfixed by the strange half-pitying look on his face. 

Then he turned around, and stretched out his arms to the sides.

Dozens of thin, perfectly parallel lines crossed his back, darker than the surrounding skin, looking as though someone had taken thin ink and drawn them on. They stopped at his shoulders, but Remus could see short ones on the backs of his arms down to his elbows, curving with the muscles there.

Tentatively, he touched one of them. It was raised just slightly. He realised he'd never seen Sirius changing, either.

"It's my mum," Sirius said, as Remus ran a thumb over one of the short lines on his arms. "She knows this charm -- anyway. I thought I was the only one."

He doesn't understand, Remus thought. And then, No. At least nobody does it to me. At least it's not my parents doing it to me.

I'm the one who doesn't understand.

"So I won't tell," Sirius added. "If you won't."

Remus slid his fingers up, over Sirius' unscarred shoulder, to grip it tightly.

"I won't tell," he agreed. Sirius nodded, and gently shrugged off his hand, letting his robe fall to the floor as he pulled up and buttoned the shirt. Remus found the shirt he'd been looking for, and pulled it on. 

"Do yours hurt?" Sirius asked.

Every month, when I get new ones -- "Not once they're healed."

"Mine ache sometimes. When it's damp."

"There's charms for that, aren't there?"

"Dunno. Are there?"

"Must be."

Sirius swallowed. "I could look 'em up. In the library."

"Sure."

"Like to help?"

Remus opened his mouth to remind him that Sirius Black hardly needed that -- Sirius was head of his class in Charms -- but then he realised that the pleading look on Sirius' face had very little to do with helping him research and everything to do with helping him.

"Yeah, okay," he said, and Sirius smiled. 

"Ta. You're a mate, Lupin," he said, easy now with words, and turned to go. Remus felt as though he'd just betrayed him somehow; surely having a mother who made such perfect, even dark lines on your body was worse, somehow. To lie and say he understood, that they were somehow together in this...

On the other hand, the desperate look in Sirius' eyes told him that he was dying for someone to tell, for someone else who understood pain. 

And Remus did understand pain.

He took up his book and descended to the common-room. He saw Sirius grin at him from the table, as he settled into his favourite window-seat, and smiled back before opening his book. 

Other boys had secrets too, after all. And that was not something Remus had cheated out of anyone.

It was comforting, somehow.


	15. Better Than A Bobble Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus gets everything he asked for on his sixteenth birthday and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: None

Remus didn't really start to worry until the blindfold went on.

Birthday pranks were _de rigeur_ amongst the Gryffindor boys, particularly when the older boys played them on the younger ones. No one dared play a prank on Sirius, because Sirius had a temper, but Peter had been fair game for the boys a year above them since they'd started school. Even James occasionally got conned, though the only year he really fell for the prank it had been Remus' idea.

So, Remus had been expecting a prank from James and Sirius, since it was an unspoken law that Remus -- underfed, sickly, scholarly Remus who was always a year older than everyone because he'd had to start late -- Remus was off limits, the pet of Gryffindor, the single person that anyone in the House would rally round if necessary. Remus had no enemies in the House. Oh, he had competitors: Evans hated when he beat her at Charms and the Quidditch jocks always made fun of his complete fumble-handedness with a broom. But let a Hufflepuff join in the laughter or a Slytherin make a remark and a stony Gryffindor wall was raised. 

Remus was easy to love. He worked hard at making this so.

James and Sirius and Peter saw through that, though. Remus was always amazed that they were still his friends even after not only crushing his careful facade but discovering his secret as well. On the other hand, since they did see through it, they had no trouble pranking him and did so more or less constantly, in the spirit of older brothers. Remus loved them dearly, the pranks, because they made him feel normal.

But blindfolds weren't on. Who knew what someone could do to you if you were blindfolded?

Sirius' fingers -- it had to be his, since he could hear James off to his left and Peter wasn't tall enough -- Sirius' fingers gripped his shoulders and spun him around a few times. He laughed over the anxious pound of his heart, the nerves he tried to tell himself he didn't feel. Finally he was stopped and dizzily led forward.

"Stairs," James said, but neglected to tell him whether they were up or down; he put his foot out to test and a flashbulb popped.

"Oi! No cameras!" Remus cried.

"Scrapbook," Peter called. Remus descended at least one flight, probably two, then ascended one and went round a corner -- they were in the, what, the north wing now? No -- paving stones! The courtyard!

"Stop," Sirius said in his ear, wrapping an arm around his chest from behind to physically halt him. Remus breathed in the smell of Sirius' soap and sweat. His face burned, a reaction that he used to get with James but lately had found dominated by Sirius. James was untouchable and perfect, after all, and why even try?

Why try for Sirius, either? And yet while he'd been able to stifle some kind of misguided crush on James, his odd reaction to Sirius hadn't been so easily eradicated. Sirius got under his skin. He was reckless and could be cruel if he wasn't thinking, but he was kind, too, and honest and a stand-up bloke.

A cloak was settled around his shoulders and he walked forward again. Dirt and grass under his feet now, he could smell them. The night air was crisp and cool.

The light filtering through his blindfold was a shade darker now, and he guessed that they must be in the Forest or on the high road through the Forest to Hogsmeade. Any minute now he expected to put one foot forward and fall into the lake, except James and Sirius would never be that unsubtle.

Without eyes, his other senses sharpened; he could hear Peter breathing on the right, James tossing something up and down in his hand on the left. Sirius was still behind him, fingers on his shoulders, breath warm on his neck.

"What is this, a bloody snipe hunt?" he asked.

"Birthday present!" James sang out.

"Pneumonia is not a birthday present! It's an infectious disease!"

"It'll be worth it."

"Oh Christ, you're not taking me to Madam Monique's, are you? _Syphilis is an infectious disease too!_ "

"Swearing like a Muggle is an affectation the world can live without," Sirius intonted, in a precise imitation of Professor Slughorn.

"Tell me, what is swearing like a sailor?" Remus asked sweetly.

"We're almost there, Moony; keep it down or we'll be caught," James warned. "A year's detention is _definitely_ not a birthday present."

They stopped abruptly; Remus heard James and Peter's feet cease to crunch on the leaf-strewn ground, and he was stopping even before Sirius grabbed him again. There was a sort of soft whooshing noise, and then Sirius had released him.

"Stand still; I'm going to take your blindfold off," he said. Remus obediently stood still and waited for the cream-pie-inna-face that he fully expected.

Instead he stood blinking in the half-moon light, in a clearing somewhere deep in the forest. His whole body stiffened.

Sirius was standing off to one side, holding the blindfold. In front of him, almost close enough to touch, was a tall yearling buck, not quite fully grown but with a respectable start on a set of antlers, still covered in velvety skin.

Remus tried not to breathe. It was a beautiful creature, perfectly formed, with deepset intelligent eyes -- not at all like the inbred city-adapted berserker deer that used to menace his father's property. The only flaw that he could see was an odd tumour on top of the animal's head, just to the side of his ear --

He watched in amazement as the tumour moved and unfolded itself, stretching out into a mass of fur and tiny claws and bright, keen eyes. A rat was seated on the deer's head, clinging with one paw to the stalk of an antler.

"Sirius," he breathed without moving, "Where did James and Peter go? What is this?"

He turned to look when Sirius didn't reply, but Sirius was gone too. Instead there was a young bear a few feet off, an enormous gloomy shape in the shadows.

It _had_ been a snipe hunt. They'd led him out here and gotten him lost, and Sirius must have done a runner when he saw the bear (which was unlikely but Remus would have too, so who was to say) and now he was stuck between what probably _was_ a berserker deer and a bear.

He began to back away, slowly. Bears had a chase instinct, didn't they? If he moved very slowly...

The rat _leapt_ from the deer's head, landing claws-tight in his shoulder as he turned to avoid it. He yelped and tried to brush it off but it clung on grimly, and suddenly thank god Peter was back because those were Peter's hands on his cloak right where the rat....had...

Remus looked up. Even as his head turned he saw the deer and then he saw the deer start to shift and twist and melt and after a second James was standing there, cracking his shoulders and shaking his head as if to shift an unpleasant thought. The bear lumbered forward and knocked James over, but it wasn't a bear at all, it was a big black slobbering dog, an impossibly enormous dog --

Remus dropped to the dirt with a soft _whump_ as the dog went through the same awkward shifting process until Sirius stared at him from where he was seated on James' chest.

"Geroff me!" James said, shoving Sirius. He leapt up from the dirt and pounced on Remus, ruffling his hair.

"Happy birthday, Moony!" he cried, and Sirius crawled forward to sit in front of him, looking terribly pleased with himself.

"Humh?" Remus asked, looking bewilderedly around at them.

"Aren't you pleased?" Peter inquired.

"Um?"

"He's pleased," Sirius proclaimed.

" _What in the bloody fuck is going on?_ " Remus managed.

"Maybe he's gone mad," Peter said doubtfully.

"We're animagi!" James said. "Like Professor McGonagall. We reasoned, well, Sirius reasoned that if werewolves only attack people, what you want are best pals who aren't people at all."

"So that you're not alone," Sirius added. "Now, granted, that was back in second-year and I will be the first to admit that twelve year olds are not _generally_ brilliant geniuses, but I think my theory has held up to study. Are you pleased? Say you're pleased."

Remus looked around him wildly. "Animagi? What? Doesn't that take years?"

"Took _us_ years," James agreed. "We've been working on it since third year."

"But....look, all I wanted was a Puddlemere United jumper!"

"Oh, we got you that too!" Peter said, leaping to his feet and running off into the shadows.

"He'll get killed!" Remus cried.

"No he won't. Sirius scentmarked every inch of the clearing and what he missed I took care of. Sufficiently confuses just about anything that comes by," James assured him. Peter reappeared with an armful of squashed presents.

"I mean, it's not...well, like, Animagery is for life, not just for birthdays," Sirius continued. "But we thought you'd like it as a present, you know. Not every day our Moony turns sixteen!"

Remus stared at him. They had all gone mad.

"For me?" he whispered.

"Remus," James said. Remus turned around to look at him and took a cream pie flat in the face.

Nothing like James Potter for breaking the tension.

***

After they'd sat and talked about animagery and had several re-enactments of botched attempts, cleaned up the cream pie and eaten the remains, after Remus had opened his "proper" presents and put on the new jumper with matching gloves and the Gryffindor bobble hat, after he'd exclaimed over the set of quills and inks and two tins of loose-leaf tea, they'd reluctantly trekked back to the castle and promptly indulged in the tea to warm themselves up. Remus, in a sort of half-aware bliss, pressed some of his birthday tea on everyone who came into the common room and ignored the quizzical looks garnered by his muddy trousers.

He couldn't even fathom what they had done, as they climbed the stairs to their room and got dressed for bed. They had changed themselves, had altered the absolute shape of their bodies. According to some theories, they'd consciously rewritten their DNA.

All this from three boys who, collectively, could not have washed their own underthings if they had an instruction manual. It boggled the mind. And they'd done it for him.

Sirius, an enormous black dog who looked as though someone had taken a labrador and crossbred it with a bear, padded lightly across the room and rested his furry head on Remus' footboard. Remus smiled and leaned forward to scratch him behind his ears. He was rewarded with the sound of his tail thumping back and forth on the floor.

"Let me guess," he said. "You're a dog because you know you're not allowed on the furniture anyway?"

A huge doggy grin and a drooling tongue met his insult with cheerful optimism.

"All right, up you come," he said softly. Peter was already asleep; James was at least halfway there, to judge by the breathing which was more snore-like by the second. The bedsprings creaked alarmingly as the dog leapt up on the bed. Impulsively, Remus leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the dog's neck, pressing his face against the silky fur just below his ear.

"You're marvelous, Sirius," Remus said into his neck. Sirius whined, so Remus let him go and leaned backward, already embarrassed at his show of emotion. "Can you still see in colour?" he asked, to change the subject.

The dog sneezed, and in the process snapped back into a human shape.

"Nope," Sirius said, sitting up and crossing his legs. "Things _smell_ in colour, though. You smell blue."

"I do not!"

"Sure you do. Peter's worse, he smells pink. I wonder about him."

Remus laughed softly. "What about James?"

"Bright orange. McGonagall smells black."

"I figured _you_ would," Remus grinned. "Smell black, I mean."

"Dark green." Sirius' voice was soft, oddly regretful. Then he grinned suddenly, almost maniacally. "Hey, I have another present for you."

"Sirius, really -- "

"No, this is a good one. I made it myself. But you have to put the blindfold on again."

Remus half-sighed and accepted the scrap of cloth from Sirius, tying it tight against his head under shaggy brown hair.

He felt Sirius' hands first, squaring his own shoulders and then lifting his chin slightly. He thought he felt one finger drift over his cheek, but he could have imagined it; perhaps it was the blindfold rubbing there.

"Sirius, come on," he said playfully. "What are you up to? Not another pie, is it?"

"No," Sirius said, sounding oddly breathless. "Stay still, close your mouth."

"Close my -- "

"Close your mouth," Sirius repeated, so Remus did.

There was the barest of hesitations. Remus heard Sirius inhale and smelled him as he had earlier, the scent now intermingled with the deep earthy smell of tea -- and mud. An incomplete portrait, until...

Sirius' hands cupped his face, thumbs along his jawline, fingers warm on his cheeks. He almost started back at the sudden touch. Then he felt warmth as Sirius leaned forward, heard him draw another breath, and kept very still as warm pressure touched his lips.

Sirius was kissing him.

His hands lifted off the blanket where they'd been resting but he didn't know what to do with them so they hung there, fingers vaguely outstretched in Sirius' direction, as his head was tilted further forward and Sirius kissed him a second time on the upturned corner of his mouth.

"I've been waiting to do that for two full years," Sirius said against his cheek.

"Poofter," Remus replied. Sirius laughed, but it was a shuddering, fearful thing. Remus groped one hand along his arm and held him where he was, their heads bowed, cheeks pressed together. "It's fine, Sirius. It's fine. It'll be fine."

He reached up and pulled the blindfold off. Sirius was looking at him with impossibly dark eyes.

"Best birthday present ever," Remus said.

"Better than your bobble hat?"

Remus laughed. "Yeah. Better than the bobble hat." He leaned forward, speaking quietly. "Better than three underage animagi."

Sirius caught his breath.

"Better than tea and quills and a Puddlemere United jumper," Remus continued. "Best ever."

But that was a lie, really. Best ever was what happened right after that, when Sirius looked down at his hands and a brilliant smile spread over his face.


	16. Away From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marauders tell stories -- and sometimes reveal more than they meant to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Warnings: None.

"Marshmallow?"

"Please."

"Trade you for a pepper imp."

"Haven't got any."

"Peter, did you eat all the chocolate?"

"Nomf."

"Here, I've got a few frogs."

It was a crisp, cold evening, the first chill snap of autumn. Out here, past the village -- not that the village was very brightly lit at any rate -- the stars wheeled cool and clear above them. The moon, almost full, shone through trees that still had most of their leaves, though the colours were turning. 

Remus Lupin lay back, propped on his elbows, and stared up at the sky, watching the stars twinkle. Theoretically, he knew that it was because of the shifting gases of the atmosphere (he'd done well in Muggle school before Hogwarts, and liked astronomy) but he couldn't shake the voice in his head, his mother's voice from when he was quite small, which said that the stars were candles and the breath of the gods made them shine like that. 

Peter and James bickered nearby, until Sirius broke it up; when Remus looked over, James was roasting a marshmallow on the end of his wand, over their little campfire. The other boy dropped him a wink, and tossed him a packet of toffees.

"Nice to get out of the school for a while. This was a good idea, Moony," he said. "Bit of a camp-out before the first full moon of the year, eh?"

"I thought it would be fun," Remus answered, opening one of the toffees. "We ought to do it for Hallowe'en, too. After the feast. Could bring some girls along."

"Not if we go through the Whomping Willow," Peter pointed out, accepting a casually flung toffee and peeling the waxed paper off of it. 

"There are other ways," Sirius replied. "I think that's a great idea. We can scare the hell out of them."

"That wasn't what I was thinking of," Remus said delicately. James roared with laughter until Sirius stuffed a marshmallow in his mouth. 

"I wasn't done yet," Sirius said, in as dignified a tone as he could muster. "We sneak out of school, right, in the dark, after the feast, and we come up here and pass around something to warm us up, and tell a few ghost stories." He grabbed hold of James and pulled a wide-eyed, frightened face. "Oh, Jimmy!" he wailed, in a high falsetto. "Hold me Jimmy! Don't let the Big Bad Scary Things come get me!"

"Geroff me," James wrestled Sirius off, and they scuffled good-naturedly for a few minutes, while Peter stole James' marshmallows and Remus rolled his eyes.

"Do we know any ghost stories?" Peter asked, when they were done picking twigs out of their hair. "I mean...ones that are actually scary?"

"There was the time Nearly Headless Nick caught me in the bathroom," Sirius said thoughtfully. 

"That's not really very scary," Remus pointed out.

"You don't know what he caught me doing," Sirius answered. The boys winced in mutual sympathy. "Not a story I want to tell to girls."

"When you think about it, we really don't know many scary stories. I mean...we /are/ the scary stories," Remus said thoughtfully. "A grim, a werewolf, a rat, and a shadowy pointy-headed figure in the night. It's not like we're scared of ghosts. Cept for Peeves, I guess," he added. 

"I resent being called pointy-headed," James said.

"Duly noted, pointy-head."

"I know one about a vampire," Peter said.

"My great-uncle's a vampire," Sirius replied. "He has dentures."

"There's the one about the guy who doesn't get in the elevator, you know the one," James said, to Remus.

"What's an elevator?" Sirius asked.

"Problem, that," Remus pointed out. 

"You know any, Moony?" James asked. Remus thought about it.

"Well, there's only one time I've ever been really scared," he said, slowly.

"Yeah? What's that?"

***

"This is it?" his father had asked, when they'd visited the school to see about Dumbledore's...'special arrangements' for Remus. He'd looked around the Shrieking Shack, with its dusty floors and bare-wood walls; with its sad little cot and a locked cabinet of food, a cracked sink and rusty spigot. Nothing to heat anything with; no chairs, no desk. Boarded-over windows. 

"It's not any worse than the barn at home, dad," Remus had replied. 

"But you didn't have to spend three days solid in the barn," his father had pointed out. "You got to come out in the morning."

"There's a place to lock up my schoolbooks. I can study during the day. That way I won't fall behind."

"No hot meals...no heater, for that matter."

"I can use my wand if I'm cold, or want hot food."

His father had looked askance at the slight young boy, but he knew how much Remus wanted to attend Hogwarts, how much he'd depended on the dream of attending it to get him through the last few years. 

Now, Remus wondered if perhaps dad hadn't been right. It was one thing to walk around it in the daytime, with your father nearby and Dumbledore waiting to show you the school, not ten minutes away. 

But now it was evening, and he'd gone through the Whomping Willow and down into the tunnel, and that wasn't so bad really, because he /knew/ it was still daylight out. But since then -- since he'd arrived, and locked his books and wand away, and listlessly eaten a few crackers from the cupboard -- it had grown later, and darker. 

He ought to undress; he ought to lock away his clothes, too, so that he couldn't shred them. Back home he didn't go very far, just out to the old barn, wrapped in a big blanket, and dad always checked on him right before sundown. 

He didn't want to undress. Not in this big, dark, creaking place, with dust everywhere and probably spiders or rats or something in the corners. He didn't want to Change here, all alone, without his dad, without the big blanket that dad always mended no matter how much he tore it apart. He didn't want to be back in the morning and be all alone and have to bandage up his own cuts. He wanted his dad. 

He considered simply leaving, walking out into the woods at the edge of town and running wild, but he knew how that ended. It always, always ended with a bite, and a scream, and a silver bullet. Just like it had happened to the wolf who bit him. 

Sundown in a few minutes.

Sighing, with a cramp in his chest and hands that were not quite steady, he took off his clothes, folded them neatly, laid them next to his wand in the cabinet, and locked it. He slid the key underneath the sink, where his big clumsy werewolf claws couldn't get to it. 

He sat on the cot, back against the wall, hugging his knees, and waited.

The shafts of light breaking through the gaps in the boarded-up windows turned slowly red, then gold, then blue...and then were gone.

Moon would rise soon.

But in the meantime, a whole new litany of horrors were assaulting Remus, curled up alone in the cot. There were creaks that made him jump, and he was sure he'd heard something skitter across the floor. 

He let out a small shriek as a dark shape fluttered against the window. It's only a bird, it's only a bird...

But in his mind it was changing and transforming into something quite terrifying, with three heads and slavering jaws...

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands over his face, body tense. Unfamiliar place, new territory, scary scents -- 

New territory.

That was a wolf thought. 

And as he thought it, and as a half-dozen bats clattering outside finally broke through the rotten board and flitted their way into the room, Remus felt the Change. He shrieked and tore at his own skin while his bones began to shift, his face changed -- 

It was, truthfully, a very bad night for five innocent bats looking for a hunting ground. 

In the morning, he found himself pressed into a corner, scoremarks on the walls and splinters in his fingertips. He rose, tiredly, and walked to the sink, running water from the elderly spigot over them, pulling them out one by one. He banaged his hands, first, and then rubbed a healing ointment into the rest of the cuts, just like dad had taught him. He quietly got out his books and began reading, taking notes occasionally. 

Wouldn't do to fall behind, after all.

He felt oddly full, all things considered, as if he'd had a big dinner the night before. 

***

Remus realised he was kneading a marshmallow to a sticky, powdery pulp. He hadn't meant to quite give that much detail away. 

He flicked his eyes up, quickly, expecting any minute now that Sirius would come up with some taunt about the Big Bad Wolf. But Sirius had his head down, and was shooting sidelong glances at James, who was rubbing soot off the end of his wand. Peter was drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick.

"Never thought about that," Sirius rumbled.

"Not really a good scary story, though," James muttered.

"Gosh," Peter said softly.

There was a long silence.

"Bet it'd get you laid," Sirius said, throwing his arms around Remus' neck. "Oh, Remus!" he returned to the falsetto, and Remus rolled his eyes. "Suffering all alone like that! The poor boy!"

Remus tried to shrug him off, but Sirius didn't let go. "The poor lad," he said, in his own voice, quite quietly. His arms dropped away. Peter slipped a chocolate frog into his hand. Remus studied the packaging.

"But that was all before," he said, waving a hand, as if it could brush all the memories away. "I've got you lot now."

"Yeah," James answered, grinning. He threw a toffee at Remus, who laughed and blocked it with his hands. "You got us."


	17. Forgive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness is part of the cure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Warnings: Mild drug use.

It was always dreams with him, of course, he was the dreamer -- there was one in every group. James was the leader and Sirius was the daring one, and Peter was the clown, and Remus was the dreamer. He did his work hard and well -- not like James and Sirius of course, they didn't need to work hard, and he had so envied them on the OWLs when he saw them sitting, done, while he was still agonising over the words of his final essay. 

He didn't like the dreams that came in the Shack, the first few years, the dangerous, almost drugged dreams of a deep sleep borne of exhaustion from the transformation. Even after, with Pads and Prongs and Wormtail along, he was so tired in the morning. He'd no idea how they ran with him at night and then went off to classes the next day, leaving him behind. He knew that Peter, at least, always had dark circles under his eyes when they greeted him after his return from the Shack, when the moon began to wane.

And then graduation, and it had been just him and Pads, or just him and Prongs, or maybe they'd get together, all four of them, once in a while, but mostly James and Sirius traded off spending the moons with him.

And then it was just him, and the biting and scratching and torment of being a caged animal came back, and in the morning he was so tired and the dreams were so vivid again, such nightmares of Sirius' face and James and Lily's bodies and Peter's...remains...

Dumbledore knew. He saw him from time to time, and he came to notice that Dumbledore always managed to catch him just after the full moon, when he looked his worst. It went on that way for three, four months, measured in the unique time that only werewolves measure, where it is laid out not in weeks or days or years but in spaces between the change.

Dumbledore brought him a sack of tiny vials, each sealed with wax, each containing a dusty grey powder.

"Phoenix ash," he said. "From Fawkes' transformations."

Remus cocked an eyebrow at him. "Did you want me to...to make you some kind of potion? I don't understand."

"It's not for me. They're for you."

"That's...a very abstract sort of gift, I'm afraid," Remus answered, still not understanding. He shook one, watched the dust fly around in the sealed tube. 

"The properties of phoenix ash aren't known to many," Dumbledore continued, as if guest-teaching a lecture, in Remus' small bed-sit. "It is...restorative. Especially to those who undergo regular changes. Such as yourself."

That had been twenty-five days ago.

Remus lay across the bed, cuts healing, bruises slowly lightening after the first night of the change, eyelids drooping heavily. Dumbledore had not told him, he thought, the words trickling into his mind like molasses, that phoenix ash was a euphoric. 

He closed his eyes and stretched, the pain a distant echo. His cuts felt as though they healed faster than normal, though the trickles of blood from them were pleasurable, like hot water on cold skin. The duvet beneath his naked back felt like thousands of tiny fibers, rubbing away sensible thought.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and the empty vial fell from his fingers to the carpet, mingling there with small drops of blood. 

And he dreamed of giant black dogs, and delicate brown rats, and the shadow of the king stag, falling across the forest floor.

***

Bloody hell. It would have to be that, wouldn't it? Of all the things that'd solve it. Of all the things that'd end it. Fucking, this, of all things. 

I just about passed out when Arthur came to me and said look, we're working on this, well, I'm not, but you know how it is, the Ministry's one big incestuous mass of idiots -- 

And I said Arthur, please, I'm tired, it was a full moon last night, and he said oh -- of course it was. Molly sent soup. 

He gave me the soup. He looked at me for a while. I didn't dare stand up for fear I'd fall down. It'd been all I could do to get to the door to answer it. Hadn't eaten properly beforehand -- the books say, large amounts of protein before a Change, but protein is expensive. 

Soup'd help.

And then he did that thing, the same thing Ron does, pushed his hair out of his eyes even though it wasn't in his eyes to begin with and said They think they've a cure.

For what? I asked, like an idiot.

Lycanthropy, he replied. 

A cure?

They think. They...they haven't found anyone to test it on, yet. 

I remember laughing until I wept. And every time I think of it the hysterical laughter comes back for a while, and especially now that they've sent me the papers that are being written on it, the research being done -- research being done on my blood, blood I've been sending them for the past month, though it's made me anaemic and even on a good day it's hard to spend more than a few hours active. They're paying me a bit for it.

Blood money.

Ahahahaha.

And they've got people in to talk to me, people who study the emotional side of magic, state-of-mind wizardry they call it, like Muggle psychology. As if it wasn't obvious how I feel about it.

Bitter.

Not much one for forgiving, at least not this. Not this thing which has gripped my life and kept me from doing anything I really wanted to do, marry, have children, have a normal life, how do I forgive that?

That's the spell. Forgiveness. A charm, and a potion, and a conscious act. My father tried to kill the one that bit me but it got away, so it's not as though I'm forgiving a ghost. I'm forgiving a monster who's out there and has probably done this again and again -- 

A monster.

Like me.

They say there's a chance I might lose my magic if I try it. I might be a squib. My family's not wizarding, not for a few generations back, and they think the lycanthropy might have caused it in me.

And who should I forgive if my magic gets taken away from me? And will it help?

I've done it over and over, you'd think it would be easier. When Sirius and James almost let me kill Severus, I forgave them, when I thought Sirius was the traitor after two years of hating him I forgave him, too, and a good thing when I finally saw him face to face again. Harry forced me to forgive Peter. It's never seemed worth it, not when compared to the little hatred right down my spine whenever I think about another werewolf, and especially about that one, the one who bit me. 

A charm, and a potion, and a conscious act.

Would I rather be a monster or be ordinary?

Would I rather lose my whole world just to be human, whole and fully human again?

Say the charm. Latin came easily to me, it's such a succinct language. 

Drink the potion. Sickly-sweet. A little gagging.

Close my eyes and tilt my head back. The potion's acting quickly on an empty stomach.

And I see the wolf so clearly in my mind's eye, huge and powerful, graceful too, but the snout is too long the teeth are too sharp and the pain is so overwhelming as they rip into my body --

You are no more a monster than I am.

You are just more unfortunate.

***

He hadn't moved in two days, and Arthur was beginning to worry. Lupin was supposed to wait until the Ministry wizards arrived to watch the ritual, but he was a private man and Arthur knew all too well he performed for no one. So he'd up and done it on his own, and when they'd arrived they'd found him passed out on the floor, spilled potion from the cup in his hand oozing over the rug.

There was a soft gasp, and Remus' eyes opened. His skin was dark compared to the sheets of the bed in St. Mungo's, but still he was too pale. 

"Lost," he said, and Arthur stood, knocking his chair over, leaning over the bed.

"Lupin, it's me, Arthur," he said.

"Gone..." Lupin moaned, closing his eyes again. "Is it gone yet?"

"Is what gone?"

"The wolf, it was here -- "

Arthur frowned. "There wasn't any wolf, Lupin. You're in St. Mungo's."

"It's gone," Lupin said, with a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes. "It was in my head. How...did....did it work?"

Arthur bowed his head, and heard Lupin moan softly.

"They're not sure what went wrong," he muttered. "They weren't there to see you do it."

"Have I still got..." Lupin's hand rose, searching for something. "I want my wand."

Arthur picked it up off the table, pressed it into his fingers. "Be careful -- "

Red sparks flashed on the tip. Remus let it fall.

"Well, at least I didn't lose that," he said, turning his head. 

"Lupin, they think...they think they can still get it right."

The other man shook his head against the pillow. "Not using me."

"Why not? Don't you want...?"

A small smile curved Lupin's lips.

"Because I forgave him," he said softly.

"Who?"

"Him," he repeated, and then, with a small shrug, and a barely audible voice, "and me."


	18. Time To Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of what could have happened the day Remus Lupin became a werewolf, and first met Alastor Moody, thirty-odd years ago...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Warnings: Injury to a child (not abuse).

Lupin doesn't eat chicken. 

Well, not anymore.

He used to, when he was a child. He lived on a farm and his mother kept chickens for the eggs -- fresh eggs, with shells so thick you had to really crack them against the pan to get them open. She never liked killing them, though, so Remus learned young from his father and brother how to hold it still, swing the axe, scald the body and pluck -- he can still remember the soft underdown floating through the air, his father's blunt-fingered hands pulling the feathers. 

That night when he cocked the rifle it was like the sound of eggs cracking in the pan. 

He'd only been eight but you learned to do a lot of things young, on a farm, and his father had taught him when he was six how to load and fire a Muggle rifle, in case, god forbid, he ever had to. 

That night Rufus had thought it would be good practice for the lad; there was something at the chickens, and all it would take were some warning shots from the porch steps. Anything that'd pilfer chickens probably wouldn't come inside the houseyard. 

Remus was so proud his father was going to let him do something all on his own -- though he knew he was being carefully watched from behind the back door screen.

He cocked the rifle -- crack! and fired it, over the roof of the henhouse, a warning shot.

The hens started screaming. 

He saw a shadow -- he'd always had excellent night-eyes -- and expelled the empty shell, raising the stock to his shoulder to fire the other barrel. He saw it impact even as he heard his father gasp, and then the thing got back up papa it got back up and his father was coming forward to protect him as he ran up the steps to the porch but something burning hot and painful had him by the leg -- 

The rifle was pried out of his hands, swung again and again until the wood splintered and finally the thing that had him let go, and rushed off into the fields beyond the henhouse -- 

***

Joseph Catrail was woken from a deep sleep by the sound of someone pounding frantically on his door, and tumbled down the steps in his pyjamas to find Rufus Lupin, face pale, shirt stained with blood.

"Jesus God, Lupin, what the hell happened to -- " he saw the man's face, and his eyes widened. "Is it Anne?"

"Remus," Lupin croaked. "Werewolves."

Catrail grabbed the bag he kept by the door and followed Lupin outside, Apparating once they were on the porch. 

The boy was still conscious, which was good, and Anne was doing what little country-magic medicine she could for him, a simple replenishing potion and a badly stammered attempt at a healing charm. She'd cut the trousers off, too, and was washing the wound.

A clean bite, no tearing, just jaws closing and then opening again -- he could save the leg. Anne followed his orders to the letter while Rufus and Richard did what they could. 

When he finally looked up from the gore and blood -- werewolf bites resisted healing, and he'd had to resort to a couple of Muggle techniques -- he saw that none of them had been idle while he worked. 

Rufus was loading bullets into his rifle, and Richard was packing the same into an antique but well-kept pistol. Anne was bent over the fire. 

"What're you doing, Rufus?" Catrail asked cautiously. Rufus tossed him a bullet. Nearby, Remus moaned and tried to move away. 

Silver, of course. That was what Anne was doing over the fire. Melting silver. Sickles; not pure, but once melted, pure enough to kill a werewolf.

"You can't mean to hunt it down yourself, Lupin -- you've got to call the Aurors -- "

"By the time they get here it'll be gone," Rufus answered ruthlessly, taking the bullet back and shoving it in his pocket. "You're welcome to come, but I'm going with or without you."

"Listen to reason, your wife's already nearly lost a child today -- " 

"I'll kill it before someone else does."

"Your son's hurt, Rufus!"

Rufus looked him in the eye. "He going to live?"

"Yes, but -- "

"Some other man's son might not be so lucky. Richard." Rufus held out a hand, and his other son put the pistol into it. Rufus offered it butt-first to Catrail.

"I'm sorry, Rufus. I swore an oath," Catrail said softly. 

"Your choice," Rufus answered. 

None of them moved to stop him.

"The Aurors need to know, especially if this doesn't end tonight," Catrail said, when he was gone. "Anne, do you want me to -- Anne, come on now..."

Anne, who had been silent and grave before, began to weep, and Richard -- he was only twelve, for god's sake, and Remus only eight, clever, sturdy little boys -- Richard moved to comfort her. Catrail stood haplessly in the middle of the floor, Remus laid out on the table behind him.

"I'll fetch someone," he said softly. "Someone discreet," he added, knowing that for them this was not now a consideration, but would be one day. Werewolves were shunned in the Wizarding World.

He Apparated from the front steps, directly into the hallway of a boardinghouse that catered to Aurors, most of whom traveled extensively. Number nineteen had an old acquaintance of his...

When he knocked, a serious-faced young man answered the door. 

"I'm sorry to take you away so late," he said. "I need you to come with me. There's been an attack. On a child."

Alastor Moody didn't ask any questions. He simply grunted, and reached for his traveling robes.

***

When Remus awoke, the house was quiet, insanely quiet; in the yard not a chicken clucked, not a goat brayed. There was no clatter of his mother's breakfast dishes, no roar of his father to get up, his sons couldn't be lazing abed all day when there were chores and school to get to.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as fire raced down his left leg. Something had attacked him -- oh, papa was going to kill him -- 

"Good morning, lad," said an unfamiliar voice. A man was sitting on the ottoman in his room, carving something with a wicked-looking knife.

"Good morning, sir," he answered, in his best polite-to-strangers voice. The man looked up, and two dark eyes regarded him seriously.

"Know where you are?"

"In my bed," Remus stammered. "A -- aren't I?"

"Aye lad. That you are." The knife snapped shut, and vanished, along with the carving. "D'you remember last night?"

Remus flipped the covers off his leg, examining the tight white bandages interestedly. "Something bit me."

"Does it hurt?"

"A little."

The man stood and walked to the bed, looking down. "Lad, I need to show you something," he said. "May I pick you up?"

Remus nodded, confused, and felt thick, muscular arms around his body, lifting him. He winced as the fire in his leg flared again, but tried not to show it.

This strange man, with his dark eyes and scarred hands, carried him to the window. Down below stood his father, and Dr. Catrail, and his mum and brother, surrounding what looked like -- 

"What is it?" he asked, in a hushed voice.

"What bit you," the man said. "Yer father blew its head clean off," he added approvingly.

Yes, a headless body. Remus turned away, pressing his face into the man's robes. 

"A person didn't bite me," he said shakily. One of the hands moved up to stroke his hair.

"No, my boy," said Alastor Moody, still looking down on the corpse. Anne was holding Richard tightly, and Rufus and Catrail were speaking in low voices. "A werewolf did."

The child shivered, in his arms, and he carried him back to the bed. There would be time for explanations later; there would be time for the boy to understand, but right now he had wanted him to see the body, to know that it couldn't hurt him. 

Any more than it already had.


	19. Learning to Knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry keeps walking in on Remus Lupin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Warnings: Brief consensual incest (twincest) played for humor.

It wasn't as though the house at 12 Grimmauld Place was small. In fact, it was quite huge. But most of it was empty rooms, and it was only the front part, with its central staircase and many landings, that was used for lodgings and, in one or two cases, laboratories. Not many people actually lived there; really just Harry and Sirius, and Remus most of the time. 

It was like living at school, or in a small town; sooner or later you found out everything.

Harry was just glad Hermione wasn't there. After all, he knew she nursed something of a small crush on Professor Lupi -- on Remus. And although Harry would have loved someone to be there, so that they could discuss just how shocked they were, he felt as though having Ron or Moody or anyone else with him would have disturbed Sirius' privacy.

"Harry," Remus said, pushing Sirius away from him quite suddenly. Both men looked flushed, and Remus' hair was touseled, not at all in its usual neat state. "Did you ah..."

Sirius, Harry noted, was breathing heavily.

"...did you need something?" the brown-haired man continued. 

Harry, eyes wide, shook his head slowly. 

"Harry, this isn't what you think it is," Sirius said slowly.

"You're shagging," Harry blurted.

Remus rubbed the back of his head. "Not at the moment," he murmured. Harry saw Sirius stifle a grin. 

"It's okay," Harry continued. "I mean I know all about this stuff..."

"Do you now?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry blushed.

"Not personally," he muttered. "I mean, I'm fine with it."

"That's...good," Sirius said slowly. "Erm."

"I'll....just be going then..." Harry backed out of the kitchen, wondering if he would ever blink again. When he was out of sight, he heard Sirius' low voice, and Remus' in reply, and a quiet, affectionate laugh that could have come from either man.

He was a little more disturbed the second time. 

He wouldn't have been, if it'd still been Sirius. But it wasn't. He could quite clearly hear, through the shelves in the library, that Tonks was saying something, and Remus was replying, and then Tonks was, well, was moaning something, and Remus wasn't saying much of anything...

Still, he reckoned Sirius probably knew, since Tonks was his cousin, and if Sirius knew and was okay with it, well, it wasn't any of Harry's business, was it?

Harry decided, when he went to ask Remus if he could borrow a book and found Severus Snape asleep in his bed, with the werewolf wrapped comfortably around him, that it was time to make it his business. For Sirius' sake. 

It was ironic, really, that his constant vigilance resulted in the discovery of Remus Lupin doing obscene things to Mad-Eye Moody in the sun-room. He didn't say anything -- he was trying too hard to repress the sight.

And he was, although vigilant his Remus Watch, not expecting that if he walked in on the middle of an Order meeting between Remus and the twins, that he would find, well, Remus...and the twins.

He didn't think he'd be able to look Ron in the face for a long, long time.

"Hermione," he said, over the third or fourth butterbeer he had downed in a row, the afternoon he intruded on Remus and the twins, "I want you to do something for me."

"Yes, Harry?" she asked, looking up from her summer homework.

"If you ever see me open a door without knocking again, even if it's a bloody sliding-glass-door, I want you to say 'twins' to me, okay?"

Hermione lifted an eyebrow delicately. "Twins?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Twins. And if I curl up in a foetal position, just let me lie there and shiver for a while."

Poor Hermione. After that she really should have been clued-in to the need to lock the door before asking Professor Lupin for some private tutoring.


	20. And His Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin's mooning over a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 (Remus/OFC)  
> Warnings: None.

It wasn't that she was beautiful.

In fact, she wasn't.

Sirius had remarked that she wasn't, and it was true; this did not, however, stop Remus Lupin from "pulling a James" as Sirius called it, and breaking his nose.

The nose-breaking was unintentional. Werewolf strength was a thing Sirius had learned to forgive, the first time Remus accidentally snapped his ulna while they were play-wrestling in fourth year. What shocked them more was the fact that Remus had thrown a punch, that Remus had for the first time in his entire life started a fight and lost them House points. And him a Prefect, too.

Sirius took it with good cheer. As he remarked, rather cattily in James' (and consequently, Peter's) opinion, hanging about with Potter, romantic obsession could rub off on one. 

The news of the fight filtered down to the object of their discussion, but the reasoning behind it did not; she remained blissfully unaware of the seventh-years. Or perhaps not; perhaps it was simply the blissful general-terror of the seventh years that all other students had. They might be only a year ahead, but once you started cramming for your NEWTs, you were a world apart from the rest of the school, and even those who'd been close friends with the lower years began to drift away.

Not that she and Lupin had ever been close, as Sirius also had pointed out P.N. (Pre-Nosebreaking), but that was Lupin's fault, wasn't it?

Remus wretchedly apologised for the injury, and offered to let Sirius break his nose in return. Sirius graciously declined, though not before James had started selling tickets. There were kids who'd pay good money to see a prefect take one in the face, whether or not it was gentle-voiced, even-handed Lupin. 

And he had to agree that she wasn't beautiful, but as he'd tried to explain to Sirius, that didn't matter. She wasn't ugly, by a long stretch, and there were plenty of girls who could wish to be as pretty as Allison Barrett, especially when she sat at the library table under the windows and the sun caught her dark hair...

James shoved his elbow, which happened to be supporting the arm that was attached to the hand that his chin was resting on, and he collapsed gracelessly into his book. The resulting clatter made heads turn, and he closed the book, blushing furiously, while James and Sirius chuckled to themselves.

"Moony's mooning," James whispered, obviously please with this bit of alliteration. 

"Loony mooning Moony Lupin," Sirius added, then raised a hand to cover his nose. "Don't break it again, I just got it fixed!"

"Bastards," Remus sighed, without any real feeling to it. He'd given as good as he was getting, over the years, and it was only what he deserved. Still, they might have the grace not to embarrass him in front of her.

Not that she'd even noticed when he'd crashed into the book.

Not that she was ever going to notice him.

None of the girls ever did, after all, not with James and Sirius (bloody Sirius) around. And he'd never minded, before, but then he'd always been too busy with schoolwork or Prefecting or running about with three unregistered Animagi to care whether girls noticed him. 

Now he did, and James and Sirius thought it was funny, and in a way it was. It was Moony's turn to make a fool of himself, and the others, who had been teased and laughed at and on occasion patched up by him over the years -- well, it was only fair.

He haunted the library, which was just as well, since he could study while she wasn't there. She had a favourite chair, and his became the wing-chair that he could slump into and read, and incidently see her chair, from over the top of the book.

Anyone else sitting in Allison's Chair received a baleful glare from him until they grew uncomfortable -- whether they knew why or not -- and moved. 

It wasn't as though she was a complete mystery. She was only one year below them, and she was a Ravenclaw, and Remus had plenty of friends in Ravenclaw. She knew his name and he knew hers, but it was a small school, so that wasn't unusual. 

The thing was...

He'd never had a class with her. He knew she was smart, she was routinely credited as top of her class for Ravenclaw, but he'd never seen her in class, or studying...

He shouldn't have volunteered to lead a study session for sixth-year fall exams. That was all there was to it. But he wanted to be a teacher and McGonagall had tapped him specially to spend his Thursday evenings teaching -- everything, really, from History of Magic to Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was proud to be teaching. Proud to be standing in front of a classroom, answering questions, being helpful. 

And then she'd spoken up one night to ask a question so far beyond the remedial queries he was getting from the others that some of them had stared at her as though she were speaking a foreign language. He'd answered it, uncertainly for once, and given her a reference for where to look up the specifics. 

And she'd smiled, and said thank you, she'd do that.

And Remus Lupin, according to his mates, lost his mind.

It would be closer to reality to say that he lost his heart, but perhaps it was both. 

And bloody Allison Barrett, she kept doing it. She kept being relentlessly, unwaveringly intelligent, and charming, and pretty, until he began to wonder why she was in his tutoring course at all. None of the professor he not-so-slyly pumped for information said they'd sent her. Perhaps she was just...intense about exams. Perhaps she got bored on Thursday nights. 

It didn't matter, because as long as he didn't look at her he was fine, but the one time she sat in the front row he wasn't sure he answered any single question put to him that night.

"Mr. Lupin?"

He snapped the book shut in surprise, and looked up from the recesses of the wing-chair. Professor Kiernan -- Dark Arts and Quidditch -- was staring down at him in thinly-veiled disapproval. 

"Professor, sir," Remus said, rising to his feet. The Dark Arts teacher was one of the old school; you stood when addressing Professor Kiernan.

"If I could draw you out of your reverie on the art of upside-down reading..." Kiernan said, taking Remus' book and turning it so that the spine was the right way up, "I'd like a word with you in the hallway."

Remus felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. This meeting had been coming for six years, and he knew exactly what it was going to be about. 

He followed Kiernan out into the hallway, and walked with him as he paced towards the staircase. Kiernan was silent -- it was a trick of his that Remus had picked up, where he kept quiet until the last possible moment the student could bear, and then he spoke. 

"I've been going over records for all the students planning on graduating this year," Kiernan said finally. "You're quite near the top of the class, Lupin."

"Yes, sir," Remus said. It was true. He knew he wasn't top, but he doubted he was lower than fourth. 

"But you are not the top."

"No sir."

"Do you know why, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus did know why, but he kept silent.

"Because you failed a class in first year, Mr. Lupin."

"It was marked Incomplete, sir," Remus whispered, feeling hot shame wash over him.

"Which will become a fail, Lupin, if you don't complete the class before your NEWTs," Kiernan continued mercilessly. 

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any plans to complete the class?"

Remus was silent again.

"You do realise if you want to graduate, Lupin, you have to pass this class."

"Yes, sir."

"How did you escape with an incomplete, in your first year?"

Remus felt his chest tighten. "Was sick," he muttered. 

"Four times?" Kiernan asked. He waited until Remus was completely wrecked, and then continued. "Very well, Mr. Lupin, I see you have long been adept at avoiding that which you find unpleasant."

Remus hung his head.

"You have four weeks, Lupin, to prepare for a final exam. I am sure you can find one of your...companions, to help you," Kiernan said significantly.

Companions.

That was James.

"Understood, Lupin?" 

"Yes, sir," Remus said softly. He stopped at the top of the stairs, and Kiernan continued down. 

Damn, damn, double damn. He'd been hoping nobody would check that far back. First year! What was Kiernan thinking?

Perhaps he'd been holding a six-year grudge. He did seem to take delight in springing the thing on him. 

It wasn't as though it was his fault he couldn't seem to operate a broomstick to save his life. (Literally. Once one had failed in midair, and James'd had to catch him).

He couldn't go to James or Sirius. He couldn't. They were already in the mood to make fun, lately, and they were mercilessly picking on Peter for his panicked NEWTs studying. It was all in fun, of course, but...

He couldn't.

He leaned on the banister, lost in theought. He hadn't even been on a broomstick in four years, at least. He never had to. During the summer, he traveled by floo or Muggle transport. During the school year, there was no reason to travel anywhere, and he did just fine watching Quidditch. He had no desire ever to play it. Crashing about on broomsticks being chased by hard metal balls? Strictly for the Potters of the world. 

"Don't jump, it's not worth it."

He was so startled he nearly did. Instead he turned, sharply, and fixed his best glare on the perpetrator -- 

"Allison?" he asked, stupidly. She smiled. She had splendid teeth. 

You are a moron and you HAVE lost your mind, said the voice in the back of his head. 

"Whatever Kiernan said, it isn't worth throwing yourself down the stairs," she continued, leaning on the railing next to him. "Besides, shallow steps like these, you probably wouldn't even die."

"Probably not," he muttered. After all, it took silver or beheading to kill a werewolf...

"Might knock Kiernan down on the way, though," she said, contemplatively. "He's a right bastard, you know."

He couldn't think of a single witty thing to say. Where the hell are you, voice in the back of my head?

"He's all right," he stammered. She flicked hair out of her eyes.

"What'd he want to yell at you for, anyhow? Get an ink spot on a paper?" she asked. 

"I failed a class," he blurted. 

Oh, bloody brilliant, Lupin. Well done.

"You?" she asked. "Nonsense."

"In first year," he explained. 

"I don't believe it. They wouldn't let you teach Thursday Review if you weren't going to graduate," she insisted. 

"Yes, well, I don't think broomstick flying is essential to one's academic life, but apparently my elders and betters think differently," he sighed. "Please don't tell."

"Tell who?" she asked. "Who cares? It's broomsticks."

"Nobody cares when you pass. Everyone cares when you fail," he said. It was a line of Kiernan's. "Excuse me, I've...I ought to..." he backed away, and nearly fled. 

Well, she noticed you. For about two seconds. Because you're a screwup. And you're going to be stuck here all next year with her knowing you're a screwup because you're not going to graduate because you can't fly a bloody broomstick.

He growled the password and slunk into the Gryffindor common room, snarling when Sirius jumped up and tried to pull him over to the fire. It was so unexpected, so un-Lupin-like, that Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, and stared after him as he climbed the stairs to the dormitory.

"He's been in a snit for two weeks," he heard Peter say, before he opened the door to their room. He paused.

"Girl trouble, hasn't he?" James answered.

Sirius' voice. "He'd listen to me, I'd solve it for him."

"Yeah, like Lupin'd ever take our help on stuff like that."

Remus leaned his head against the wooden door, and took a deep breath.

Sleep. He'd sleep. And in the morning he'd have a nervous breakdown and have done with it.

***

He woke early the next morning, by habit as well as intention; he was usually up before the others, and this time he was glad. He didn't feel like taking James' ribbing, or Peter's Helpful Suggestions, or Sirius'...whatever Sirius did. Sirius tried too hard, when he knew his friends were upset. It was like being knocked down by Padfoot. Too much. 

He liked Hogwarts in the very early hours. The ghosts had generally drifted off somewhere, and no-one was up yet, and even the few professors who had a habit of prowling the halls were in bed. It was chilly, and echoingly silent, and it made him feel...special. As if the world was made just for him. 

Breakfast hadn't begun yet, but the House Elves knew him, and more or less ignored him as he stole some scrambled eggs and toast, carrying them through the kitchen and out into the courtyard. He sat, balancing the plate on his knees, and making a sort of buttered-toast-and-egg sandwich to eat in the cold morning air. 

He was used to a certain amount of free-floating anxiety -- he was a worrier by nature -- so it took him a second to attach it to something.

Bloody broomsticks. Bloody, bloody broomsticks.

He hated flying. He hated how exhausting it was, hated the wind disordering his hair, hated being that far off the ground while trusting only himself to keep from falling. He'd done badly at it in class, and after a while had given up, taking to flying the minimum possibly distance to a turret in the castle, and then hiding out, crouched on top of a gargoyle, the broom lying harmlessly nearby. 

James would go on and on about what a thrill it was, and you really should give it another go, Moony, and it was like being free, really free, with nothing to worry about.

Remus had nodded, and listened silently. He felt the same about...about books, and knowing things, and learning new things, but James -- to whom learning came too easily for him to really value it -- would just have laughed. 

"Did you know you're in ogling distance of two out of the four girls' dormitories?"

He started, nearly falling off the step he was sitting on. 

"Are you always this jumpy?" Allison Barrett asked, dropping onto the step next to him. 

"Do you always creep up on people?" he replied, before he could think. 

"I never creep up. I don't think you spend much time paying attention to the real world. It's a wonder you haven't walked into a tree yet, or something."

He didn't have a ready reply to that, so he offered her a slice of toast. She ate quickly, neatly talking around her food.

"I was thinking about what you said last night," she remarked.

"Which part, the bit where I admitted I'm a failure or the bit where I whined about it?"

"All of it."

"Oh." He subsided into silence. 

It really shouldn't be this difficult, talking to girls. Maybe Sirius had read a book on the subject. There ought to be flash cards or something.

"Did you come to any conclusions?" he asked, after a while. She shredded the crust of her toast, dropping crumbs on the steps.

"Yes."

"And?"

"Maybe you should've jumped after all." 

His throat tightened, and a blush spread across his cheeks. It was embarrassing, anyone knowing, and especially a sixth year, and especially her. He'd heard James talk about playing the pity card, but it wasn't worth the loss of what, Remus was willing to admit, was his considerable pride. 

"You know you're allowed to ask people to help you," she said finally.

"I can do it on my own."

"Can you now?"

"I always do. I don't need anyone's help."

"Well, excuse me, I'm sure," she said, tossing her crusts out into the courtyard. Birds began to descend as she stood up, dusting herself off. "Next time I won't offer."

He stared wretchedly at the birds fighting over the crusts as she walked away. 

"You're not supposed to do that, you know," he said. He heard her stop. 

"Do what?"

"Feed them scraps. It's not good for them."

"It's a good thing you're easy on the eyes, because otherwise people would notice how nuts you are."

He leaned back, resting his head on the top step.

"Were you really offering to tutor me in broomstick flying?" he asked. He couldn't quite see her, just an Allison-shaped shadow out of the corner of his eye. 

"Well, not offering as such," she said. "I was just pointing out that I'm not too bad a flyer. I'll probably make fun of you, but at least I'm witty about it."

"I doubt it'll help much."

"Thank you," she said sourly.

"I'm unteachable."

"Be a short lesson, then. At least you won't waste my time."

He closed his eyes, and held out his plate. She took another piece of toast. 

"I can't afford to pay you for the tutoring or anything."

"I don't pay for Thursday Review."

"I get class credit for that."

"Consider it my yearly good deed. Or possibly karmic payback for the owl I accidentally hit when I was twelve."

He sat up, turning to stare at her. "You hit an owl?"

"It was an accident."

"How do you hit an owl with a broomstick?"

She turned bright red. "I didn't hit it with a broomstick."

He blinked.

"I thought it was a Bludger..."

Remus Lupin's sudden peals of laughter sent the birds in the courtyard flying, and woke up half of the Gryffindor dormitory as it echoed up the walls. 

***

It looked like rain, Remus thought, as he reluctantly trudged onto the Quidditch Pitch, carrying Sirius' borrowed broomstick. 

Well, 'borrowed'. 

He was sure Sirius would never miss it, he never went flying on Friday afternoons. 

Yes, it looked like rain. They'd better do this some other day -- 

"At least there won't be any glare," said a voice, behind him, and he turned to find Allison Barrett, a rather less expensive broomstick in her hands, regarding him sagely.

"I was just thinking it looked like rain," he said. "Perhaps another day?"

"You won't fly any worse for being wet," she answered, with an impish smile. "Nice broomstick, for a boy who claims he can't fly."

"Borrowed it," he muttered. 

"All right then. At least you've got something quality to work with. You can do the basics, right?"

He looked at her dumbly.

"You do know what the basics are, don't you?" she asked. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I was sick a lot, first year," he said. 

"Well, you're not sick now. Put it on the ground."

"What if it escapes?"

She laughed. He liked that laugh. He liked it so much he didn't mind that she was laughing at him.

"They don't fly away on their own unless you fall off, and you won't fall off."

He put it gingerly on the ground, hovering his hand over it for a minute, just in case. Finally he straightened. She'd put hers down too, facing him.

"Up!" she commanded. The broom leapt easily into her hand. "Now you do it."

He held out his hand.

"Up!" he said, voice cracking. He concentrated hard on making it fly. This was how it was done, wasn't it? You thought really hard about it and made it rise. 

It lifted a few feet off the ground, and he brought his hand down, catching it.

"That's no good. Not enough lift. Try again," she said. He pushed the broom back down to the ground.

"Up!"

It rose a little higher this time. She pursed her lips.

"Well, I suppose that's good enough to pass the basic course. Leg over, then," she said, swinging onto the broom. He ignored the way her robes hitched up over her school trousers, and awkwardly climbed on. Effortlessly, she rose a few feet off the ground.

"Pull up a little," she said. He followed her instructions, then quickly panicked and gripped the broom handle with both hands, tightly, when his feet left the ground. The broomstick crashed down, and he stumbled, white hot embarrassment racing through him.

"This is going to take a while, isn't it," she sighed.

***

A twisted ankle, a healing spell, and a lot of panic later, it started to rain.

"Where are you going?" she asked, as he picked up the broomstick and wrapped his coat tighter around himself.

"Inside," he replied. 

"I told you, a little damp never hurt anyone," Allison said, hands on her hips. The rain was making her hair curl in ways that shouldn't be legal. 

"I don't want to fly, I don't know how to fly, and I don't see the point of flying," he said. "If I do well enough on my NEWTs I don't really have to graduate."

"Going to tell your parents that?"

He bit back the reply that his parents were just happy he was gone ten months out of the year and they didn't have to hear him screaming every full moon.

"This is stupid. If I get my Apparating licence I'll never need one anyway, they're uncomfortable, they're cold, and they're exhausting," he answered. "There's no point. I'm wet, I'm tired, and I hate sodding broomsticks."

"Quitter," she replied.

"Fortunately, that never really bothered me much," he snarled, turning on his heel, leaving her with both broomsticks.

"I thought you were better than this," she called after him. He paused. "You and Potter and Black. Kings of the school, right?"

"They are," he muttered.

"Yeah, but they're always with you. So all the sixth-years think you're like them. Truth is you're just a coward."

He turned, and growled. He was thoroughly wet now, the rain tracing lines down his face, plastering his hair to his head. "I am not a coward. You don't know anything."

"Prove it," she said, and tossed the broomstick at him. He let it fall.

"I don't have to prove myself to you or anyone else," he said. "If you haven't the natural sense to get in out of the rain -- "

"I like the rain!" she shouted. 

"You would! You like stupid broomsticks too!" he shouted back. 

"You utter -- do you really think I'm doing this because of a broomstick?"

"I don't know why you're doing this but I wish you'd stop!"

"I like you, idiot!" 

He stopped mid-shout. 

"What?" he asked, as rainwater ran into his eyes.

"Are you oblivious too? I completely overestimated you!" she shouted. "Pick up your broomstick!"

"What?" he repeated. She picked it up for him and put it in his hands. 

"What do you think when you try to fly a broomstick?" she asked, face upturned to his. "What's in your head that makes it so bloody hard for you?"

"It's bloody hard!" he responded. "You've got to think about getting the stupid thing off the ground, and then you've got to think about where you want to go, AND still think about keeping it in the air, and stay balanced, and -- "

"You're thinking too much!"

"Oh, thank you, thank you ever so."

"No, I mean..." she stepped back, and he felt he could actually breathe again. "It's not you. It's the broomstick. It does all the work. It's not levitation, it's a charm on the thing itself."

"What are you on about?"

"You don't use your head to lift it with. It lifts all on its own. You just tell it where to go."

His jaw dropped. "But I thought...but James says -- "

"Sod what James Potter says! Is he out here in the rain teaching your or am I?"

He looked down at the broomstick. "But how's that work?"

"Who cares how it works!"

"I do!"

"Well, stop caring! Some things you don't need to know, you great prat, you just need to trust."

He hefted the broomstick. "A bit of wood's a lot to trust when it's all that's keeping me from a broken spine, you know."

"Then trust me," she said. She leaned over the broomstick, her hands between his, and kissed him.

She tasted a bit like rainwater, and a bit like what he vaguely recognised as lip gloss. Her nose fit next to his quite nicely. Objectively, it was a good kiss.

Subjectively, small parts of his brain were fusing together, and his hands were letting go of the broomstick to cup her cheeks, pull her closer, draw his thumb down along her chin in a subtle but effective bid to get her to open her mouth and let him deepen the kiss substantially. 

When she opened her eyes and pulled back, he let her go.

She pushed the broomstick against his stomach. He looked at it again. 

"Will you let me kiss you again if I fly it?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe," she replied. She ran her fingers along the handle and swung a leg over, in front of him. The bristles brushed his knee. 

He followed suit, and reached around her, arms circling her waist. 

"Fly us," she said. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and she didn't shrug it off. "Think about me. Trust me," she said.

***

Flying was marvelous after all.

 _Saadi held the Muse in awe,_  
 _She was his mistress, and his law;_  
 _A twelvemonth he could silence hold_  
 _Nor ran to speak, till she him told._  
\-- Ralph Waldo Emerson


	21. Methodically Curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymphadora has questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 (Remus/Tonks implied)  
> Warnings: None

So do werewolves have sex?

_I beg your pardon?_

Sorry, here, this should soak up the tea...do they? I mean, can they -- er -- you?

_Have sex?_

Yes.

_Why on earth -- yes, not that it's any of your business, Nymphadora Tonks. Does your mother know you ask this sort of thing to unsuspecting men drinking their tea?_

You don't have to, er, do anything special?

_Special? What, like -- I can't even think of what "special" might entail. Do elabo -- no. Don't. Forget I asked._

Mind your moon phases, nothing like that?

_No. Well. I would imagine it would be uncomfortable, if not terminal, for the other person involved, during the full moon. Otherwise no. Why are you asking?_

And it works just like normal?

 _As far as I've been able to ascertain in twenty years of field research, yes._

Was that a grin, Remus?

_Are you helping Harry with some sort of extremely twisted school report?_

So why don't you? Ever? 

_How do you know I don't?_

Well, nobody ever sees you with anyone. It's not contagious, is it?

_No, thank god._

So why don't you go out, ever? Can werewolves, er -- in the shower, like, or -- 

_That's really between me and the shower, Tonks._

Aha!

 _Why aha? There's nothing at all to aha over._

Well, that's a shame, everyone ought to...aha. I aha.

 _I am not having this conversation with you._

Have a biscuit. So it's just like regular people, then?

_Most of the time._

Most of the time?

_It's a bit worse right around the full moon._

Worse?

_Worse._

Interrogative note indicative of curiousity.

 _My, we do know some big words. I believe the technical term is "increased libido". If you must know._

That sounds like fun.

 _Not if you're me. No -- don't do your Lupin, you get my forehead all wrong._

Is that why you're always so worn out afterwards?

 _No, that's due to my skeleton reforming itself twice in the space of twenty-four hours._

Oh. Sorry.

 _Yes, I blame you._

Hah. So you're perfectly capable and pretty interested, generally speaking?

_Was that a proposition, Tonks?_

Yes. 

Do say something, Remus.

_I was joking._

I wasn -- mmf...

 _Oh._

Mmm.

_Satisfy your curiousity?_

Not by half...


	22. Remus Lupin's Booty Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Christmas Eve, Remus gets up enough courage to call Nymphadora, and receives an especially tempting invitation. Set during HBP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 (Remus/Tonks)  
> Warnings: None

Remus knew that the pointed remarks would start _almost_ as soon as he crossed the Burrow's threshold. 

It was actually sort of comforting. His parents had been exceedingly nonconfrontational, to the point where once in a while he'd wondered how they ever managed to get married in the first place since his father wasn't the sort to ask any question ever, let alone a controversial one about matrimony. It had probably taken his mum a year of hint-dropping. His mum had continued to drop hints all her life, but fortunately Rufus Lupin was an even-tempered man who needed a lot of prodding anyway. 

Coming to the Burrow for Christmas felt like coming home, at least in the sense that Arthur was a genial, friendly chap and Molly spent most of her time prodding Remus to Do Something About Nymphadora. The noise level at the Burrow was a good few decibels higher, but Remus had been a schoolteacher and was used to that, too. 

"It's just that I already _have_ done something about Nymphadora," Remus said to Arthur as they stood in the garden, Arthur supposedly showing Remus what he planned to do with it in the springtime. In reality they were sharing a flask of firewhiskey and a few moments' peace from the crowd of children inside. 

"But the wrong something, isn't it?" Arthur asked.

"It isn't the wrong something. It isn't the wrong something at all. Tonks will see that when she's a bit older."

"Cruel to be kind, are we?"

"Don't you start," Remus said, taking a long pull at the flask before wiping it with one threadbare glove and handing it back. 

"She really looks awful, that's all," Arthur said.

"That's not my fault! Even she knows I'm not worth getting that wrought up over. It's mostly Sirius, I think. She really wanted to do right by him. Protect him and sort of -- she wanted him to be proud of her. Of course she's miserable he's gone, she feels responsible."

"Lupin, you can't wriggle out of this one. You're at least partly to blame."

"Yes, well." Remus tucked his hands up in his armpits, warming them. "She'd be much more miserable later on, with a dead-end blocking her career and a husband who can't hold a job."

"Look at Molly and me. We've done all right with not much money, raised a whole houseful of children. There's a bit of sad and angry in every marriage, but you don't remember them much when you really look back."

Remus contemplated the thick blanket of snow, leaning against a fencepost. "But you're not a werewolf. Molly doesn't have to take care of you."

"We take care of each other."

Remus shook his head. "I can't do it, Arthur. I can't take that much away from her. Better a little heartbreak now."

"Well, if you can stand up under the strain of Molly's persuasive obsession, I suppose you deserve your independence," Arthur said. "Come inside, there ought to be cake or biscuits or something soon. Thank Merlin Molly's giving you new gloves and a muffler for Christmas, you look half-frozen."

Remus laughed and stepped inside through the back door, unwinding his tattered muffler and shedding his cold-weather clothing. It was Christmas eve, and he was himself very much looking forward to one of Molly's knitted mufflers. He'd cobbled together enough cash for small gifts for everyone, though he was embarrassed at their cheapness, and he'd begged wrapping paper and ribbon off Molly. 

Arthur's words weighed him down, however, much more than Molly's tart remarks had. He found a seat close to the fire and near to Harry, but the horrible Christmas concert on the wizarding wireless was a dim background hum to the sound of his own thoughts. He only really even noticed Harry when the boy leaned closer to Arthur to tell him what had been going on at Hogwarts. Even when he was talking with Harry himself, most of his mind was elsewhere. 

It would get better, the pensive thoughts, when he went back to the werewolves after Christmas. It would have to because if he was distracted then, among the werewolves, he might as well sign his own death warrant. 

Eventually the Christmas concert ended and Arthur brought in eggnog for everyone; it wasn't long before the youngsters were wandering off to bed, though Arthur and Molly stayed, as did Bill. Fleur, having conceded the field to Molly for the evening, was probably off putting some kind of beauty product on her face before bed. 

"When are you going to be married?" Remus asked Bill, as they settled in with a second round of drinks.

"Summer, I think," Bill said, glancing sidelong at his mother. "Hopefully things...will be better by then."

"Before then, I hope," Remus agreed. 

"To better times," Arthur said, lifting his glass, and they toasted gravely. 

"What about you?" Bill asked, when he was done with his drink. "Mum told me a while ago she thought you'd found a girl."

"I _thought_ he had," Molly said severely.

"It didn't work out," Remus replied, his voice even.

"Sorry to hear that. You could do with a bit of domesticity," Bill said, nodding at his frayed and patched jumper. 

"I'm afraid I'm rather better at sewing than she is, actually."

"You haven't told Bill _why_ it didn't work out," Molly observed.

"I doubt he's very interested," Remus countered.

Bill looked from Remus to Molly and back again.

"Are you going to play charades all night, or can I ask what I'm missing now and save some time?" he inquired blandly. "It's not that she can't sew, is it? That'd be a stupid reason."

"Your mum thinks I've acted unreasonably, that's all," Remus said. "Nymphadora -- "

"Is it _Tonks?_ " Bill asked. "Merlin, is that why she's been so absolutely unlivably miserable lately?"

"No," Remus said, even as Molly said, "Yes."

"It's Sirius," Remus insisted. "She's just having a hard time dealing with his death, that's all."

"Says you," Bill said. "You've been off with the werewolves, you haven't been around to see how mopey she is."

"Men have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love," Remus retorted. Arthur refilled his cup, not with eggnog this time but a straight shot of whiskey from the flask. It burned a little, going down. "I have every faith that Nymphadora will get -- has gotten -- over any hurt I may have caused her."

"Who said that?" Bill asked.

"Said what?"

"About the worms."

"Oh. Shakespeare, I think," Remus said.

"Nymphadora's favourite writer," Bill commented, as if proving a point.

"Is it genetic?" Remus asked Arthur.

"Couldn't say," Arthur replied cheerfully. "You boys can stay up talking all night if you like, but I'm going to bed."

"They'll have us up at seven in the morning, I think we'd better get what sleep we can," Bill said to Remus. "Nymphadora Tonks. Well done, Remus, you had some stiff competition to beat out to break her heart."

"Like who?" Remus asked, following him into the corridor and up the stairs. "Goodnight, Arthur, Molly."

"Goodnight," they called up, the door of their bedroom already closing. 

"Oh, well, I don't have _proof_ per se, but she mentioned some boy in the Aurors, and there was some Quidditch player who chased her round for ages," Bill said. Remus caught an unaccountable anger with Bill rising in his gut, and froze it. Mustn't shoot the messenger, after all. "And Charlie, last time he visited -- "

"All right," Remus said, annoyed. "I get the idea."

Bill smiled at him, the same horrible faux-innocent smile the Twins had given him time and again when he was teaching at Hogwarts.

"So, she'll get over you," he said, standing in the doorway of his room, "But are you sure you'll get over her?"

Before Remus could reply, he'd closed the door.

Remus' room, which had been Charlie's old room before Arthur converted it to a guestroom, was another flight up. He slipped inside and shut it quickly, not wanting to let any of the warm air from the charmed fireplace escape into the chilly hallway. The fire crackled merrily, warming his threadbare pyjamas and the blankets he'd hung over a chair nearby. Once he put them on the bed, he'd stay warm all night. There were nights among the werewolves he'd absolutely fantasised about warm blankets and a crackling fire.

He slipped blissfully into his pyjamas and sat down next to the hearth, wrapping his arms around his knees and warming his feet on the heated stone. The little pile of gifts was neatly stacked on the dresser, including one for Nymphadora, right on top. She was still his friend, after all. Besides, it wasn't much, just a knicknack he'd picked up at a thrift shop, a carved wooden stand for her wand. She was always losing her wand in her flat. What could be more noncommittal than a wand stand? It practically screamed _we are just friends._

Nymphadora wasn't at the Burrow, of course. As Molly had already informed him half a dozen times, and would probably continue to do so, Nymphadora was spending Christmas alone. He reached up and took the package off the pile, fiddling the inexpertly-tied bow between his fingers. 

Well, he had to give it to her sometime, and he had just enough liquid courage in him to try and talk to her again. The bollocks he made of things every time they talked was stupendous to behold, but maybe he could manage not to be an arsehole this time. 

He took a pinch of floo powder from an ancient jar on the hearth and tossed it in the fire.

"Tonks," he called quietly. "Nymphadora, are you there?"

There was a soft thud and the sound of footsteps, then a hushed voice. "Remus, is that you?"

"I'm afraid so," he replied.

"It's nearly midnight!"

"Did I wake you?"

"No," she admitted, and he saw her head appear in the flames. "Hey, you look awful."

"Sorry, I know."

"It's okay, it's good to see you. Molly invited me to the Burrow, but -- "

" -- yes, she said I should ask you too, but -- "

Tonks laughed a little, but there was an edge on it that he didn't like. "It's better this way, it really is."

"I think so."

"So," she said, and there was a slight, awkward pause. "Did you floo me to wish me a happy Christmas?"

"I -- yes, actually, I did, sort of. Happy Christmas," he added.

"Happy Christmas, Remus."

"I got you something, can I send it through?"

The smile of pleasure that lit up her face _hurt._ "Of course! You didn't have to."

"Well, that's the point of Christmas, we never do," he answered, carefully easing the box into the flames. A disembodied hand accepted it. He could see her shoulders now, the slim arch of her neck, and the fact that she was wearing a thin pyjama shirt herself. He heard paper rustling.

"What is -- oh!" she said, delighted. "A wand stand -- I'm always losing mine -- oh, you knew that. And look, it's collapsible. All the little brass hinges...Remus, it's great. How thoughtful of you."

Remus shrugged. "I know it isn't exactly -- "

"No excuses," she said firmly. 

"But -- "

"Remus!"

He subsided into silence. She unfolded the stand fully and locked it into place, holding it up to eye level to examine it. Finally, with a deft little click, she collapsed it down and it disappeared from his view.

"Do you want your present?" she asked. "I didn't even know when I'd get to give it to you, I thought not until you came back for good from the werewolves."

"You got me something?" he asked, rather pleased.

"Of course I did. But," she added, grinning at him, "you've got to come through to get it."

"Tonks, I'm in my pyjamas -- "

"I could remind you I've seen you in less. I won't, because you get all high-strung about it, but I could," she said. "Besides, you won't get your Christmas present otherwise."

He bit his lip, indecisive. The cheerful, flirtatious look on her face was slowly replaced by one of disappointment. 

"Sorry," she said. "Maybe you shouldn't, after all."

"No -- it's just..." he sighed. "I'll come through. Hang on a moment."

Arthur had left a spare dressing-gown on the back of the door for him, and he shrugged into it before tossing another pinch of powder on the fire and stepping forward. When the world stopped spinning he stepped out into Nymphadora's tiny, cluttered flat, but she was nowhere in sight. 

"Nymphadora?" he called, curiously. There was a crash from her bedroom.

"Stay there!" she called back. He stepped over a pile of laundry and leaned against the counter separating living-room from kitchen, hands in the pockets of the dressing-gown. She emerged triumphant, carrying an oblong box. When she saw him, she paused in the doorway, mouth slightly open. 

"Hiya," he said, feeling stupid.

"Hi," she breathed. "Sorry, it's just -- I haven't seen you in -- and you look -- it's a nice dressing gown, and -- I'm embarrassing you now," she added, resolutely walking forward, the box held out in front of her. "Here. Happy Christmas."

"Thank you," he said, not meeting her eyes. He picked meticulously at the bow, a shiny department-store one that slid off the box with a little work. With the lid and a significant amount of tissue paper gone, he lifted two glass objects out of the box reverently. 

One of them was a small tumbler, a "rocks" glass with a picture of old-fashioned scales etched into the base. The other was a frosted-glass bottle with a simple, discreet label on it. 

"Everyman Apothecary Company," he read. "Le Malt Juste."

"Have you ever tried it?" Tonks asked, practically dancing in anticipation.

"I've heard of it," Remus replied, turning the bottle around to read the back of the label. "To prepare an Everyman beverage, pour a measured helping of liquid into the specifically designed and patented Everyman Glass. Do not add ice. Everyman Apothecary Company not responsible for injuries, illness, or death caused by consumption of Le Malt Juste. Well, that's reassuring."

"Go on, try some," she said, as he set the glass down on the counter. "It's supposed to taste like whatever kind of drink you like best. The wizard demonstrating it in the shop showed me, you can even pour ice cubes right out of the bottle if you like your drink on the rocks."

"All right," Remus agreed, pinching the neck of the bottle. With a muttered charm the cork popped out and he caught it, setting it on the counter next to the glass. He held the bottle's lip over the glass, hesitated, then poured it out in a thin stream. It was clear, even after hitting the cup. 

"Bottoms up, eh?" he said, sipping carefully. 

To his surprise, given the colour of the liquid, it was red wine. It was, in fact, a wine he recognised. He hadn't had much chance to become an expert, but he remembered this taste. Half a year ago -- no, longer now -- they'd finished a bottle of it between them, eating sandwiches on the back porch of Twelve Grimmauld Place as they worked on Order business. 

"It's amazing," he said, swallowing and trying to push away the memory because he remembered kissing her for the first time and the way the wine tasted in her mouth, too. "Here, you try, see if it's different for you."

"It should be -- I guess I didn't ask about that..." she said, holding it up to her lips and drinking. Her tongue darted out to catch a trickle of liquid on her lower lip. "What was yours? Mine tastes like butterscotch."

"Vodka," he lied. "The really good stuff."

She looked pleased that he liked his gift, offering the cup back so he could finish it. He tilted his head back and drank it in a single swallow, reaching around her to set it on the counter once more, along with the bottle. As his head tipped forward he became aware that he was closer to her than he'd been in months, closer than he wanted to be. This close he could see every detail of her face, smell her, feel her body heat. 

"Remus, if you -- " she said, but he almost drowned her out.

"Tonks, I should..."

They both paused, and then she shook her head. "If you wanted to stay tonight -- I know the way you feel. But -- just...no strings attached. No expectations, I promise."

"Are you sure that's a promise you could keep?" he asked hoarsely. "I'm not positive I could."

"You've done all right so far."

The barb hit home, more thoroughly than she had probably intended. 

"It's not that I don't want to spend Christmas alone -- I don't, but..." she continued, taking his silence for confusion. "I want to spend Christmas with you. That's all. That's what I want. Remus, we might die before we get another chance -- "

"There are no other chances. I've told you."

"Fine, we might die before we even see each other again," she said. "I want at least one Christmas with you."

He knew that now was the time to bolt, but he didn't move. She hooked her fingers in the collar of his borrowed dressing-gown, pulling him closer. And he went, and he bowed his head so that she could lift her face, and her mouth didn't taste like butterscotch. It tasted like red wine. 

He tried to ignore it. After all, if she didn't remember that first stolen kiss, it was easier to convince himself that she really didn't feel all that much for him, and he could stay here tonight in her bed, in her arms, without hurting her further. He could take her offer at face value and pretend that he wouldn't hate himself for months for doing this to her. Because he wanted her that badly and his self control, though monumental, did not extend this far. 

When she broke the kiss he caught her lower lip between his teeth for a moment, not wanting to lean back and face reality again. One of her hands was cupping the back of his head, the other on his shoulder, and he had unconsciously pulled her close with both hands on her waist. 

"It doesn't have to mean anything," she said, her eyes dark blue and studying his. "I promise."

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he echoed. 

The denial was awkward and new, but it only nipped at the back of his thoughts because there was a sudden wash of familiarity, a sense of how easy this was, so terribly easy that it nearly hurt. It was incredibly simple to love Nymphadora and want to please her, and the lie that tonight meant nothing made it even easier. There would be no consequences in the morning, nothing to _face_. It didn't mean anything. Like a Christmas gift. 

The dressing-gown fell to the floor as he walked her backwards towards her bedroom, catching her arm before she could bang it on the doorframe. Her other hand had hitched his shirt up and pulled it sideways over his head. He shrugged his right shoulder and it joined the dressing gown (and a handful of her t-shirts, she never could learn to use a dresser) on the floor. 

He hooked one foot around her calf to stop her stumbling over a pair of shoes. She laughed and kissed his Adam's apple, holding tight to his shoulders to prevent herself from falling. 

"I don't seem to be able to keep my balance around you," she said as he pulled her pyjamas down over her hips. "I'm much better about it at work now -- "

"Don't care," he said, his voice muffled in the soft hair just behind her ear. "I can look out for both of us."

He felt tension ripple through her shoulders and leaned back, wondering what he'd said. She touched his lips with her fingers, cautiously, and opened her mouth. 

Whatever she'd been about to tell him, she changed her mind; instead she kissed him again and slid her hand down across his stomach, stripping away the last of his clothing. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the way she felt under his hands, the sharp smell of her skin, the lingering red-wine taste in her mouth. 

_It doesn't have to mean anything,_ he reminded himself as she led him to the bed.

Except that it did.

***

He woke early, long before Nymphadora was awake, and he was careful not to jostle her as he slid out from under the blankets, out from under the hand she'd splayed possessively across his chest. His clothing wasn't too hard to find -- he hoped it was his pyjama shirt and not one of her shirts that he'd grabbed off the floor -- and he dressed in the living room, shivering next to the fire that had all but gone out. 

Banking it up a little, he got it going enough to floo back to the Burrow; as he looked around for her bowl of floo powder his eyes fell on the bottle of alcohol she'd given him the night before. He replaced the cork and put the glass upside-down over the bottle's neck, then hesitated.

He had a closet in the room at the Burrow, but once he went back to the werewolves he'd have nowhere to keep it, and wouldn't want to take it with him anyway. Some of them were thieves who'd cut a man for less. 

He found a scrap of parchment and a quill on the desk next to her fireplace and wrote a quick note, propping it up against the bottle.

_Keep it for me. I'll come back._

It wasn't a promise, he told himself. It would just reassure her about him while he was with the werewolves. It didn't mean anything. Just a Christmas present. 

He stepped into the floo and let it spin him back to the Burrow, where he hung up the dressing-gown. The blankets he'd hung near the fire had cooled as the flames died down, but he piled them on the bed anyway and crawled between the sheets, hoping to catch perhaps another hour or two of sleep before the children woke up. 

Molly was sure to needle him some more in the morning, but he was well used to that, and he felt safe in the knowledge that Nymphadora wasn't so miserable as everyone kept saying she was. She couldn't be. She'd laughed, hadn't she? 

And even if she was, it wasn't his fault. She'd said so herself. No commitments, no expectations. She was fine, and they were friends, and surely the sharp pain in his chest was from lying in a cold bed. Anyway, he could go back, he had every reason to go back. To retrieve his Christmas gift. So he could see her again with perfect innocence and nothing would change. They were good friends, that was all. 

It was better that way for everyone. 

Remus Lupin slept, but in his sleep his hand twitched out searchingly for a body that wasn't there.


	23. The Fifth Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moody understands why Remus drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 (Remus/Sirius, Remus/Moody)  
> Warnings: Canonical character death

The thing about drinking to excess was, you had to pick your drink. 

Remus Lupin had put a lot of thought into this. Scotch was a drink with some amount of class to it, like brandy. It was a decent thing to drink alone. You couldn't drink wine alone, wine was a romantic drink. Beer was a drink for when you were actually happy about something. Whiskey was dangerous.

If you drank something with some amount of class to it, you didn't feel quite so...

Foolish?

Desperate?

He tipped the glass back and let the alcohol slide down his throat. 

He'd heard the old sayings that you could drink to forget, but it wasn't so; when he was sober he didn't remember the fight, didn't remember holding Harry back from the arch, didn't remember calming the hysterical young man. He wanted to remember that; wanted desperately to see Sirius' last minutes over again, groping every time for something...more. Wanting to be that calm again, wanting that terrible calm that had settled over him.

He never quite reached it, but he kept trying. He had more sense than to drink at Order functions, or around the others; he drank alone, in his rooms, or if no-one was about, in the sitting room -- where he was now -- or the library. He didn't shout or break things. He just got very quietly drunk. And tried to remember. And sometimes he at least got the memory back.

He set the glass down and refilled it, watching his hand carefully. He knew he wasn't entirely steady after the third glass. He'd very carefully charted this out, studious in his addictions as in all other things. He knew how to pace the drinking. Knew that after the third glass he was unsteady, and his words weren't quite clear, and that after the fifth glass he'd have trouble walking. Which was fine -- by then he didn't need to, because that was when the memories finally came. 

He held number four up to the light of the candles in the wall bracket, studying the colour of it. 

Six weeks since Sirius had died. And not one bloody thing he could do about it. At least on the full-moon nights the howling emptiness was filled a little. The animal didn't take him anymore, not the way it used to before Wolfsbane potion (another addiction, but one that the world happily approved of). It did, however, take just enough so that the hurt went away.

He didn't even bother with recrimination or guilt. Didn't bother to wonder whether if he'd been there sooner he could have helped Sirius. There wasn't room in the pain for that. There was just the pain and the aching sobriety that robbed him of his even, calm acceptance. 

Glass number four. Slightly maudlin. Par for the course. 

He sipped it, tasted the cheap scotch, let it burn its way down. 

"Do yourself a mischief, drinking that way," a voice said. Remus set the glass down, and leaned forward.

"One might say the same about spying on werewolves," he said, to the general air. Mad-Eye Moody stumped through the kitchen doorway, standing there like a friendly gargoyle.

"Sees through walls," he said, tapping his temple, and Remus realised somewhat muzzily that he meant the eye. "You can put it away neat, all right."

"I've had practice," Remus said, before he could stop himself. Moody's expression didn't change. After a moment, Remus made a disgusted noise -- at himself or the unblinking stare of the electric blue eye, he wasn't sure -- and stood, walking to the window that looked out onto the street. 

He took the glass with him.

"What you want is occupation," Moody said, and Remus heard the claw-foot leg clack against the wooden floor. 

"If Dumbledore'd give me any," he answered bitterly.

"Take your mind off Black."

"My mind's been on Black for twenty years, give or take."

"If you'd been drinking like that for twenty years, you'd be dead, werewolf or not."

"Let off it already, Moody," Remus said irritably. "It's not your business if it doesn't interfere with the Order."

He threw back the fourth glass and swallowed, shuddering a little at the sudden warm shock in his mouth. 

"And if it starts to interfere?" Moody asked quietly.

"It won't."

"Spoken like a true drinker."

The words sparked something in him and he lost control for a brief moment; the glass shattered against the wall, slightly to the left of Moody's head. The older man didn't flinch.

"Feel better now?" he asked.

"No," Remus answered. He moved forward, peering at the wall. There were small shards of glass embedded in it, and a scattering of transluscent pieces, like sharpened ice, on the floor. He reached for his wand to clean it up -- 

"Elementary wand safety," Moody said, hand darting out to grip his knuckles. "Don't drink and spell."

Remus met his eyes, but Moody had magic on his side, not to mention sobriety. After a while, he relaxed his hand, and his wand fell to the floor.

"You do it, then," he said, looking away. Moody muttered a few words, and there was a crackling noise as the glass began to vanish. Soon all that was left was a damp stain on the wall, and a few pocked holes where broken glass had stuck. 

"So tell me," Moody said, conversationally, bending to pick up the wand. "Which is it? Is it losin' him? Is it the knowing that if you'd been there faster you might've done something? Is it the sight of him falling through that -- "

"Stop it!"

Moody tilted his head. "Then tell me which it is."

Remus walked to the table, slowly. He could feel the fourth drink; one more and all the questions in the world wouldn't matter. 

"I don't remember," he said softly. "When I reach for it, it isn't there. The fight, the way he died. Harry hates me for keeping him from following and I don't even remember doing it."

Moody's blue eyes was impassive, but his own, smaller, dark eye gleamed with sympathy.

"And I think back and there are so many gaps, things I can't recall. I don't remember what his eyes looked like. Before Azkaban. I spent every day looking at him and I can't remember how he kept his hair, what he wore." He snorted. "I'm sure it was atrocious, given the times, but I want to see it again." He poured the fifth glass. "This helps."

"Most folks drink in order not to remember."

"Yes, well, I think we've established that I am not most folks," Remus replied. He sipped, coughed a little, sipped again. Felt the first little inklings of memory trickling back into his mind. "God, I can't remember how it felt to -- "

He looked up, sharply. It wasn't a secret that Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had shared a bed, in the house at 12 Grimmauld Place. But it wasn't something you talked about with anyone who came along, either. Remus set the glass down abruptly. He found himself moving through the room, as though it were a cage; Moody's stillness seemed to rub his nerves raw. 

"Do you suppose you're the only fellow ever lost a love?" Moody asked. Remus stopped, and turned to look at him. "The first time round, before the Order even existed...he got mine."

"I'm sorry," Remus mumbled. He picked up the glass again, drank from it. Paused. Held it out to the older man, who accepted it as if it were a benediction, and drank. Just a sip. Blue eye never leaving Remus' face. 

"What you want is occupation," Moody said, handing him back his drink. "Occupation and company. Keep you from brooding."

Remus shook his head, and went to raise the glass to his lips. Moody's hand on his, one finger touching the rim of the glass, stopped him. 

"You don't need to remember," he rumbled, his voice rough. "Take it from me."

"I want to see his face again."

"You won't find it in cheap scotch."

"Would I be drinking it if I didn't?"

Moody regarded him. "Would you?"

Remus felt his chest sieze up, his breath shorten. "Every time I think, this time it's in my mind, this time when I wake up tomorrow I'll remember and I never do, and I wonder if it's just a delusion and I'm too drunk to know the difference..."

Moody pressed, gently, forcing him to lower the glass until it rested on the table once more. His other hand gripped Remus' neck, and the younger man bowed his head, miserably. 

"Before at least I had hate, at least I didn't want to see him so badly. I thought he was a traitor. Now there's just a hole in my life, a Sirius-shaped hole that eats everything around me until that's all there is, this giant, looming hole," he said, the words spilling out of him. "And at least when I drink the hole looks like him, it has his face. I miss his face, Moody."

"I know, lad," Moody said, hand still on the back of his neck. Remus rested his forehead against the shorter man's, exhausted and unsteady. The room tilted and swayed dangerously. The drinks were catching up to him. 

Moody's fingers drifted up through the short hair at the back of his neck, and he shivered; they were firm and deft, and moved with a surety he could only envy. 

"Occupation and company," Moody repeated, and Remus closed his eyes against the hot grief that poured through him. "That's what you want, lad."

"What I want is -- " Remus stopped, abruptly; Moody's lips were pressed to his, and an entirely different heat was filling him. When the older man finally released him, he gasped for breath, and opened his eyes.

He was so still, Alastor Moody, like a rock in a storm. Remus was hungry for that stillness, for that lack of grief and worry.

"I'm slightly drunk," he stammered. 

"Aye, lad. Get yourself to bed," Moody said, nodding gravely. He turned, and Remus could hear the clacking of his leg against the floor, through the kitchen and down the hallway to the ground-floor room Moody had staked as his own. 

Remus glanced slowly at the half-full glass of scotch, and then shook his head. He made his way unsteadily towards the stairs, up and into his bedroom, falling into the bed with most of his clothes still on. 

Downstairs, the fifth drink waited, the memories with it. But they could wait for another night.


	24. Matched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looked like he knew the precise breaking point of his bones, and knew he was near to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 (Remus/Snape)  
> Warnings: None

Lupin was thinner.

Not thinner than anyone else, because that was taken as a given; he'd always been the skinny, wiry sort, even at school. Now, though, he was thinner than himself, which was...well, not worrying, because Severus Snape had far more important things to worry about than werewolves with eating disorders, but unnerving. Still, he watched closely, because he was the sort to see weakness in people, and what he saw in Lupin was careful movements, precise and slow. 

The man looked as if a sharp jolt would break him, a sudden movement knock him over. When one of the children that spent their summer in the old musty house ran through the room, he paused until they had gone, almost like an animal frightened of some Muggle machine roaring past. He looked like he knew the precise breaking point of his bones, and knew he was near to it. 

He ate slowly, too, cutting his food into small bits, an old childhood trick Severus had used himself when his mother's meals had been inedible. The food at Grimmauld Place was excellent, though; Molly was a good cook on a mass scale, and when it was just a few of them, Kingsley proved to be a surprisingly competent chef. Lupin didn't eat as though he disliked the food, merely as though he was eating to nourish himself, and not because he could even taste it at all. 

Snape didn't care, of course. More than that, he Didn't Care. He studiously avoided caring, especially since it was Lupin, the sole survivor of the four tormentors of his youth. It intrigued him, however, that nobody else cared. And they didn't care in the lower-case sense of simply not noticing. 

It finally came to the surface at the end of an Order meeting; nearly everyone had gone, and Lupin remained, ostensibly because he was taking his time packing up his papers. Snape had remained because he liked to make sure there was nothing left lying about that Potter or one of the other brats could get their hands on and misinterpret, as they had such a charming habit of doing. Finally, as Moody passed through the doorway at the end of the crowd, Lupin rose; Snape followed him down the aisle of chairs, silently, neither man acknowledging the other. 

Until Lupin faltered and paused, and a bony-knuckled, scar-skinned hand shot out to grab the back of a chair. Snape caught his other arm as his legs gave way, and for a moment he thought Lupin might fall; instead, the weight on his hand increased, and Lupin kept himself upright through shaking arm-strength. He hissed as if in pain, and shrugged off the supporting hand, easing himself into a chair. The folio of papers he'd been carrying slipped from his fingers to the floor. 

Snape crouched to collect it, fingers tapping irritably on the cheap plastic cover. 

"Thank you, Severus," Lupin said, as if nothing had happened, and held out his hand to accept the folio back. Snape stayed where he was, standing over him, papers just out of reach. "I'll need those tonight..."

"You've not been eating," Snape said, before he'd registered that he was planning to say it. If he'd thought about it, he would have said something else entirely; some taunt about werewolf strength, or how the mighty have fallen. He often had that sensation, of wishing to say one thing and something much less cruel coming out of his mouth, around Lupin. The man had that effect on people. 

Lupin tilted his head back a little, and let his hand fall. "Don't pretend that you care," he said tiredly. 

"No, I won't pretend," Snape answered. 

"Then give me back the folio, please."

"Do not do this, Lupin."

The brown-haired man -- mostly grey, now, but still some hints of deep brown, rather like the trunk of a birch tree, really -- gazed up at him with too-bright eyes. 

"Be honest," Snape said. "By the look of you, not only have you been starving, you've also not slept."

"It's..." Lupin began, then stopped. He didn't know what it was, of course. He had no lie to cover it up.

"The Order needs you," Snape said quietly. "We can't afford to lose even one man."

"The Order." To his shock, Lupin chuckled, dryly. "While you've been watching me, have you been watching them? To the Order I'm just a werewolf. A liability. Dumbledore's pet," he said, bitterness seeping in slowly, "and Sirius Black's pet fuck..."

Snape, whose eyes had strayed to one of the thin hands tapping on the wooden back of another chair, glanced sharply at Lupin's face.

"Oh dear, did I shock you?" Lupin asked, tiredly. "A werewolf and a queer..."

"Do not blame me for your confession," Snape growled.

"No, Severus," Lupin said, pushing himself to his feet again. "I don't blame you for any of it."

When he had risen to his feet, they'd been planted just in front of Snape, which meant the men now stood quite close together; fingers closed around Snape's hand, and the sudden shock of contact with dry, rough skin made Snape blink. 

This is wrong, he thought, even as he leaned forward to catch Lupin around the waist, to keep him from falling again. This is wrong, it should feel wrong. This should feel so wrong...

But Lupin, a man he hated and who hated him, Lupin met him halfway and he opened his mouth and those thin rough hands pressed against his chest as they kissed, Snape's hair falling around their faces like a curtain, blocking out the world. 

He could hear the other man whispering words; death and frightened and broken, and he latched onto that one because he understood. Broken and damaged, both of them. Neither fit anywhere, like jagged bits of porcelain from a long-discarded teacup, a fragment of one he'd found when he was young. He'd kept it because the edges were sharp and cut his skin but the blue-printed pattern on the side was pleasing, a little. Like the flick of Lupin's tongue across his, or the bright, almost incandescent blue of his eyes. 

They didn't fit the world. Their pieces had gone missing between marks and scars and little bits of soul torn out over the years, but two jagged fragments could look alike if you held them up in the right light, and even if they didn't fit the world, they fit each other. 

Only the two of them matched.


	25. Being the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I blame Monica, who said to me "I dare you to write a Remus/Harry and make it not be wrong."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 (Remus/Harry)  
> Warnings: Drunkfic; Harry is consenting but is also intoxicated while Remus is not.

Weddings. Weddings and funerals. Those were the two big ones. Oh, and blackouts, but blackouts didn't usually bother wizards much. And war. Because war scared people, like funerals. That was the difference. Weddings were all about love and so naturally one thought about sex, and blackouts, well, what else was there to do? But war and funerals scared people into it. 

Weddings also scared Remus Lupin. There was such an awful finality about them, even when most of them ended in divorce anyway. He was a man who saw a thing through. If he ever married, he was in until the death.

Which was just one reason among many that he never had.

But it was hard, he would admit, to be frightened of this wedding. It's very difficult to be scared when the people being married are people you watched grow up; are comrades in arms and good friends into the bargain. 

Hermione looked lovely, of course. Ron just looked awkward, with his red hair slicked back and his dress robes, for once, brand new. Hermione's parents were there, quite nice folks, very tolerant Muggles. They'd agreed that a wizarding wedding was best. Apparently they'd never been terribly religious to begin with.

Remus lurked along the edges of the giant tent-roof that had been erected in the park for the reception. It didn't rain, of course; that had been Dumbledore's wedding gift to them, along with a very nice gravy boat. 

It was good to see everyone together again. All the Weasleys, bursting with pride, some of the older ones with wives and children of their own, and Ginny with her boyfriend, a nice Muggle chap with enormous ears. 

But still he lurked, because he wasn't very good at socialising, and he didn't really want to be; he liked to watch how the others spoke, relished how happy everyone seemed to be. A perfect day for a perfect wedding. Yes. As it should be.

The toasts had long ago been made and the meal eaten, and the dances danced; Harry -- of course he was their best man, who else could possibly be the witness to the marriage of his two best friends? -- Harry had danced with all the bridesmaids, and Molly Weasley, and Tonks, who had laughed and flirted with him shamelessly. 

It fit him, Remus thought to himself. Harry was always going to be just outside the crowd. He could be nothing but Best Man. That was how it had to be. It was a part of the myth that seemed to control his life. 

We're more alike than you think we are, Harry my lad...

As if his thoughts had conjured Harry, demon-like, the boy appeared out of the dim tent, stumbling against one of the support poles, and laughing at his own clumsiness.

"Hallo, Remus, I din't see you there," he managed, straightening himself only by gripping the pole in one hand and a convenient chair in the other. "Bloody great wedding, eh?"

"It was nice," Remus agreed. "I'm happy for them. They're going to bicker their way through life very pleasantly."

"Hah. Shout is more like it. Shout, shout, shout. When we were at school that was damn near all they did, by the end," Harry said. "Shout and snog."

"Sounds fine to me."

Harry laughed loudly. "It does at that, doesn't it? Seems as though the party's breaking up now," he added, a bit mournfully. 

Remus glanced around. It was true; people were slowly leaving, shaking Ron and Hermione's hands as they left, waving and congratulating the proud parents. Remus was about to ask if they ought to join the queue when Harry slipped, seemingly on nothing, and tumbled over.

"Here, how much've you had to drink?" Remus said, catching him quickly under the elbow. Harry laughed again.

"Far, far too much," he said, nodding sagely. 

"Yes, I can see that."

"It's a celebration!" Harry waved his arm, nearly knocking Remus over too. "Didn't you drink?"

"I don't drink. Doesn't agree with me."

"Shame that," Harry said, hauling himself bodily up, using Remus' shoulder as a handhold. He was as tall as the other man, still skinny, his hair still unmanageable, though now quite a bit shorter than it had been. Remus wondered idly when Harry had grown up. He hadn't really noticed it at the time. 

"Let's go give our respects," Harry blurted. "Give us a hand, Remus?"

"I think an arm'd be more appropriate," Remus replied, slinging his shoulder under Harry's. "How're you getting home?" he asked, as they made their way towards Ron and Hermione. 

"Floo," Harry muttered, waving at the bonfire going nearby. People were stepping into it quite casually. 

"You'll never get home that way, you'll get lost somewhere -- Hallo Hermione!" Remus said brightly. "Lovely reception."

"Thank you," she said, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Wouldn't miss it. Congratulations, Ron. You don't deserve her, you know that."

"Aye, I know," Ron said. And when had Ron become such a broad-shouldered, serious-faced young man? Surely he must have been about while it had been happening. "Doing my best, though."

Harry, standing on his own now, was embracing Hermione, who wrinkled her nose. "Did you drink all the dragonwine, Harry?"

"Just most of it," Harry replied. "S'tradition, that. Ron, you bastard," he added, grabbing Ron's hand and shaking it firmly. Ron laughed. "Never forgive you for getting married, you know."

"Sorry, Harry. It had to happen sooner or later," Ron replied, grinning.

Remus noticed that Harry's smile did not quite reach his eyes.

And his hand gripped Ron's a little too tightly.

Interesting.

"You're not going home in that state, are you?" Ron continued. Harry shook his head.

"Got Professor Lupin looking after me. Chaperonin'. Aren't you?" Harry asked, turning to Remus, who nodded. 

"I'll get him home, no fear," he said. "We'll just catch a cab like the Muggles are doing, right?"

"Oh, you can ride with mum and dad," Hermione said. "And Ron's parents are going that way too. Arthur's terrifically excited."

"He's worse off than Harry, you mean," Ron said with a grin. 

"That'd take some doing," Hermione said, so softly that only Remus heard it. "Look after him, would you?"

"Don't worry," he replied. "Come on, Harry, we'll ride with the Weasleys as far as Diagon Alley, your flat's not far from there. You can sleep it off."

Harry didn't answer, but let himself be led away from Hermione and Ron, who were receiving a heartfelt if somewhat grave congratulation from Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

"A real cab!" Arthur was saying, excitedly. He pointed to a pair of headlights that were just beginning to be visible. "Look! Oh, hallo lads -- coming with us, are you?"

"If there's room," Remus replied.

"Should be. Hermione's parents caught another one, it's just us four. Here, Harry, you're all right, aren't you?" Arthur asked. Harry grinned at him.

It still wasn't reaching those green eyes of his.

They were mostly silent on the ride home; Harry's head lolled against the window, and Arthur was busy staring all around him in fascination, while Molly and Remus talked quietly about the wedding. They came to the mutual consensus that it was lovely, the flowers had been nice, Hermione and Ron looked quite well together and all in all it had been a most satisfactory evening. After they left the Weasleys at the Leaky Cauldron, Remus helping with the issue of Muggle payment, it was pretty much silent as they rode onward, except for a few snorts from Harry, until they reached his flat. 

"Thanks," Remus said, tipping the driver out of Harry's money and half-hauling the dark-haired man up the stairs. He fumbled in Harry's pockets for his key, opened it, and flicked on the lights, eliciting a startled grunt from Harry.

"Feeling coherent again, are we?" Remus asked, letting him slip onto the couch. He walked to the counter that divided kitchen from living room, and inspected the boxes of tea strewn about. "Care for something a little less alcoholic?"

"I've got alcohol," Harry said, protesting.

"Yes, but unless you want your liver to actually physically dissolve, I think you oughtn't to drink it," Remus replied. Harry let his head hang back on the sofa. "I'd no idea you were such a fierce celebrator, Harry."

"A what?" Harry asked, amused.

"I didn't think you went in for drunken revels."

"I don't," Harry replied. "But when my best friends are getting married...to each other, mind you..."

"Yes, I can see how you'd want to...enjoy yourself. Sorry I'm the one bringing you home, come to that, and not one of those very pretty bridesmaids."

"Since I would be so terribly useful tonight if a girl wanted to take me home," Harry drawled. Remus laughed as he muttered a few words over a kettleful of water, and it whistled instantly.

"Can I ask you quite a personal question?" he said, putting a tea-bag into the pot and pouring the hot water in.

"About the only time I'll ever answer one, yes," Harry replied. "Long as it's not about...you know."

Yes.

Remus did know. 

As long as it wasn't about the last battle. As long as it wasn't about Voldemort. Because they did not talk about that. No, they did not.

"I always thought you rather fancied Hermione," Remus said. "Sugar?"

"No."

"No sugar, or no you never fancied Hermione?"

"Both." Harry rubbed his face, and sat forward. "You read people, don't you?"

"I try not to, when they're my friends."

"I'm happy for them," Harry insisted.

"I've no doubt," Remus answered. "Milk or lemon?"

"No and no. I am happy. For them. For both of them. Happy Harry."

"But that wasn't why you were drinking tonight, was it?" Remus asked. He walked back into the living room, and handed Harry a mug, pouring for him before he filled his own, which had sugar already in it. 

"It was never Hermione," Harry said, sipping his tea. "Christ, did I say no sugar?"

"Here, have mine." Remus offered his sweetened tea, and Harry took it. 

"Ta. It wasn't Hermione," Harry repeated. "If you must know, it was Ron."

Then he looked up, horrified.

"I just said that, didn't I?" he asked. 

Remus smiled gently.

"I thought it might have been that, too," he said, sipping slowly. "I didn't want to say anything. I didn't know you...erm..." he trailed off.

"I erm." Harry sighed, and sat back again, tea resting on one knee. "I very erm."

"I wish I'd known."

"Me too." Harry laughed. "That I'd known, I mean. Then I finally figured out why the girls I went out with invariably got boring as soon as we got past hand-holding. I didn't want to hold hands with girls. I didn't know what anyone would think...Ron knows -- not about him, I mean, he just knows I...erm. And Hermione, and Lee Jordan, which is a story I desperately do not want to get into right now," he said, still staring at the ceiling.

"Did you think I'd disapprove?" Remus asked gently. He sat on the coffee table, in front of the couch, facing Harry. 

"I didn't want to take the chance," Harry replied. He leaned forward again, and put his mug next to Remus, on the table. "What if you had? One more person I was going to lose."

"Harry, have you given ten seconds' thought at a time to why I am not married?" Remus asked. "Why I have never once introduced you to a girl-friend, a wife?"

Harry's green eyes found his, and he blinked, slowly.

"Did you think you were the only one in the world who fancied men?" Remus said with a grin. 

"You?"

"Me."

"But you're..." Harry looked at him, brows drawn together. "But you never..."

"Neither did you," Remus pointed out. 

"Well yes, but I -- I am not dealing with this well..." Harry leaned forward, and put his head in his hands.

"You've had a bit to drink and a couple of shocks. It'll be fine in the morning," Remus said. He leaned forward, trying to tactfully see if Harry had passed out. "I'll stay on your couch, it's no..."

Harry lifted his head. Remus caught his breath.

Never once, while Harry was in school, had Remus Lupin thought about him as...as anything other than a student. When he joined the Order, he'd been a good friend. Slowly he'd evolved, in his teacher's mind, from child into man, but someone who was untouchable, someone who didn't love and shouldn't be loved, not like that.

This was all very hard to think about when Harry Potter's green eyes and his narrow, handsome face were about two inches away.

He was your student, for god's sake -- 

Yes, ten years ago he was your student, but now he is distinctly grown...and he looks so frightened...

And where was anyone for you when you were twenty-four and heartbroken?

"Harry," Remus said slowly, aware that his voice was catching. "I am aware that I am not Ron, but if you...listen to me, you're the one who's had all the drink and here I am making a fool of myse -- "

Harry Potter kissed him. 

It was a good kiss. Obviously Harry'd had someone to practice with. It lasted quite a long time. 

He tasted like wine, and a little like tea.

"You're not Ron," Harry said, leaning back slightly. One of his hands touched Remus' collar, sliding into the gap above the first button. "But that's all right."

"Is it?" Remus asked, fascinated. He felt as though he was about seventeen again. Suddenly, the twenty years between himself and the son of his closest friend in the world didn't seem to matter.

"It is," Harry said. "On account of, you were first."

"First what?" Remus asked, confused.

"You were first. Before Ron. Before Lee. I mean..." Harry ran a hand through Remus' hair, affectionately. The touch was so sudden and intimate that the older man shivered. "It was just a crush. Everyone loves their teacher, sooner or later."

"Oh." Remus stared at him. "Oh, Harry..."

"But then I grew up," Harry said, a funny little smile quirking his lips. "And knew it was just a crush. Just like it is on Ron. Was on Ron. That was over, you know, but tonight just...brought that bit of it back. I am happy for them."

"So you've said," Remus murmured.

"But I like you," Harry continued, as if he hadn't heard. "You look awfully good in that suit," he added. "So yeah. You aren't Ron. But you're you."

His thumb drifted over Remus' cheekbone, and he kissed him again. "And if the offer you were about to make..."

"Are you sure?"

"I am very drunk, and I want very much to be with someone tonight, and you are very handsome," Harry managed. "And you were first. So if you don't mind my fumbling..."

Remus smiled. "I should point out that my skill as a teacher is not necessarily indicative of -- "

"You don't have to talk anymore," Harry said, so seriously that they both laughed. "Stay the night?"

"Of course, Harry."

Harry stood, a trifle unsteadily, and Remus followed his lead, leaning in for another kiss, shivering again when he felt Harry's hands on his body, when he realised his own were on Harry's.

"I think I rather like being the first," Remus said. And this time Harry's grin reached all the way to his eyes.


	26. The Library Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bill Weasley came back from Egypt, Remus realised who'd gotten all the good genes in the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus Lupin/Bill Weasley)  
> Warnings: None

When Bill Weasley came back from Egypt, Remus realised who'd gotten all the good genes in the family. 

The Weasleys weren't ugly, as a family, by any means. Even Ginny had a certain vivacious charm to her. But Arthur had a face like a friendly gargoyle and Molly was, like Ginny, more pretty than beautiful. Bill, on the other hand...

God, he was tall. And unlike the other Weasleys, he didn't freckle. The Egyptian sun had turned his skin a smooth brown colour and shaded his hair more golden than red, bleaching it until only the roots were still true. He had green eyes that positively glowed, and calloused hands, the smooth worn skin rubbing against Lupin's when they shook in greeting.

"Heard our Ron talking all about you," Bill said. "Good to see you in the flesh, Lupin."

"Likewise. None of the youngsters ever stop talking about you and Charlie," Remus replied, holding Bill's grip for perhaps a half-second longer than necessary. A mild shock had gone through him when he'd felt Bill's work-rough hand in his, the sort of thing he hadn't felt that quickly for anyone in a long, long time...

Of course he'd been the picture of the sober, quiet, hardworking Order man at the time, he was never anything else. Later he allowed his cheeks to flush, his heart to speed a little at the memory of Bill's hand, Bill's luminous green eyes. But later, when he was unnoticed in the back of the meeting. 

It didn't bother him, particularly, as the weeks passed; it was nice to get a thrill at seeing a handsome man. He'd thought he was beyond infatuation or pure, blunt, physical attraction. He'd thought he was too...busy, and tired, and had too many griefs in his past. 

He didn't intend to do anything about it, of course, other than perhaps some really very personal meditations on the subject of Bill Weasley's arse. It wasn't that Bill was much younger than he -- six years, that was all -- but he was fairly certain Bill was gone on that Delacour girl, and even if he hadn't been, it was unwise to disrupt things. Remus was a great believer in organisation and stability, and not upsetting the status quo. 

Bill, on the other hand, was young, and had not yet been pitched to the ground by the results of upsetting the status quo. Bill didn't know any better.

"Remus, don't move."

Remus, who'd been sprawled comfortably on a couch in the library, reading the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet with one elbow propped on the arm -- nobody was about on Sundays, except Sirius, who never got up before noon -- very carefully stopped moving, and flicked his eyes up over the edge of the newspaper.

"What?" he asked, as Bill loomed over him, those bright green eyes roving his face. "I thought we got rid of all the Doxies..."

Bill very carefully took the paper out of his hands, folded it, and laid it aside. Remus watched warily.

"Don't move," he cautioned again, and stepped forward, bending onto the couch, knees coming to rest on either side of Remus' hips, thighs sliding slowly along his. Remus bit down hard on his natural reaction to the close proximity of any body, let alone the extremely well-shaped body of Bill Weasley. 

"Bill, what are you doing?" he asked softly. Bill inched forward, and one of those broad, rough hands tipped his chin up a little. 

"Remember, don't move," Bill said, and kissed him. 

It was easy enough to obey; Remus wasn't sure how to take this serious young man, with his bright eyes and copper hair, straddling his thighs and kissing him. He wasn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth, however, and he opened his mouth a little, wanting more than chaste kisses, wanting to taste Bill, for as long as this lasted -- 

"Tch," Bill said, against his lips. "I said not to move."

"But -- "

"Shhh," Bill said, his tongue exploring Remus' mouth, slick and hot and demanding, like the tight hard pressure against his thigh. Remus wanted to pull away and moan a question, but Bill was already answering it, voice vibrating against his skin. 

"Think I didn't notice how you looked at me, think I didn't see you watching how I move?" Bill whispered. "Think I didn't know when your eyes were on me? Know how naked you made me feel?"

"Bill, oh..."

"It's not fair, undressing a chap like that," Bill continued, "unless he gets to -- "

Remus cut him off with a moan. Bill's fingers were still on his chin, lifting it further as he worked his lips down the sensitive skin between jaw and throat. He raised one hand to cup the back of Bill's head, the other slipping along his waist, exploring his body, the small of his back.

"I wanted you," Bill said hoarsely, as he slid his tongue over Remus' collarbone. His fingers began unbuttoning the other man's shirt, and where his fingers went his lips followed, even when his hands spread the shirt open and his thumbs slid over Remus' nipples, brushing them gently, sending sparks of pleasure across Remus' vision. "You were a mystery..." Bill continued, drawing small circles on his skin with his mouth. Remus could do no more than moan and run one hand down below the waistband of Bill's trousers, pulling his shirt out and stroking the sensitive skin just above his belt. 

"No..." Remus moaned, when Bill's body moved, when the hard heat against his leg slid away and the lips on the skin of his chest vanished for a moment. He clutched tightly, twining his fingers in Bill's hair, finding it smoother, finer than he'd pictured the few nights he'd made Bill the object of his fantasies...

"Yes," Bill corrected, arms resting on Remus' knees as he moved to kneel on the floor. He rubbed his cheek against the trouser leg, giving Remus a smile that went straight to his already considerably hard cock. 

He spread his thighs a little, and Bill straightened, nuzzling the soft, tender flesh of his stomach, tongue flicking out along the line of his hip, fingers working busily at the flies. He slid one single finger down the bulge of Remus' erection, and Remus thought he might just die a happy man after all. 

"I wanted to solve you," Bill whispered, as Remus raked his fingers through the fine gold-red hair. God, in the middle of the day in the library, Bill Weasley was tormenting him with mouth and hands, taking intimate advantage after only two weeks' acquaintance, really. But he seemed to know exactly how to make him tremble with need, knew all the sensitive places on his body, how he liked a man to kiss his stomach, how he liked hands to tug at the waistband of his trousers...

He arched his hips to help Bill undress him, and the rough rub of his clothing against his cock made him cry out softly. He heard a low chuckle from Bill.

"I wanted to put you together like a puzzle," Bill said quietly, moving his hands over Remus' thighs as he pulled the trousers and underthings off completely. Still fully dressed, he knelt there, head resting against his leg, arm wrapped around his calf, fingers dancing lightly up and down the underside, just below the knee. "So that I could take you apart again..."

Remus, wearing nothing but his unbuttoned, half-off white shirt, whimpered when Bill ducked his head, kissing roughly along his thighs. He could feel the burnished hair brush his skin, could feel warm breath on his cock, he wanted that mouth, wanted Bill to swallow him and move his tongue against him. 

Bill lapped gently at his head, tongue rough and warm and stimulating, until Remus let his head fall back and his hips buck. Another soft laugh from Bill, more words against him, spoken very nearly around his cock -- "I wanted to see what you'd look like stripped naked, I wanted to see you writhe while I -- " he broke off then, and Remus moaned loudly as Bill's mouth slid over him, warm and slick, teeth grazing his cock lightly as he went. He bucked his hips again, helplessly, wanting to feel this good forever, wanting it never to end. 

He lifted his head and looked down at Bill, twining fingers in his hair to pull him closer, demanding more. He could see the other man's left hand gripping his thigh, fingertips stroking in small, painfully pleasant circles. Bill's other hand was below, his arm moving enough that Remus could tell he was touching himself, and that spoke more eloquently than any of Bill's words -- while he'd been thinking of Bill, those nights, Bill had been thinking of him...

The arousal coiling itself around Remus' cock threatened to overwhelm him, and Bill's tongue, even with Remus in his mouth, was still moving, pressing up against the sensitive underside, in time to his thrusts. 

"Yes, Bill," Remus said, moaned really, as Bill began to move faster. "Please, Bill, please..."

Bill moaned around him, and the vibrations made Remus' skin tingle. He did it again and Remus didn't think he could last much longer, but suddenly the tight heat of his mouth was removed and Remus felt the weight of him again, as he moved up for a kiss, trousers open, their cocks rubbing together.

"I wanted to know what you'd look like when you came," Bill said, thrusting against him. His eyes were glowing, pupils dilated with pleasure, and his face was showing a faint flush of effort. Remus tasted his own skin in Bill's mouth as they kissed, eyes still open, cocks hard against each other. 

Remus could feel his body tighten and tense, and knew that in another three seconds -- 

"Bill?"

Bill froze.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, as Remus vaguely tried to make sense of the world. "It's mum."

"Bill, are you in here?" Molly Weasley's voice floated in, from the doorway. Both men held their breath. Remus could feel Bill's erection shrinking. Nothing like mum's voice to ruin the moment, he thought ruefully. 

"I don't know where he's gone," they heard her tell someone in the hallway, "Probably off working, good lad that he is."

Remus stifled a snort of amusement, badly. The door shut with a click, and they relaxed, slowly.

"Molly Weasley," he said, as Bill dropped his head against his shoulder, shaking with pent-up laughter, "Is going to kill me. Really. One day they'll find me dead, and it'll be her fault, somehow."

"Shouldn't have tried to seduce you in the library," Bill murmured, against his neck. "Sorry..."

"Don't be," Remus answered, stroking his hair. "There's still a few hours left, you know, before I have to be anywhere."

Bill's hand traced Remus' hip, slowly.

"However, much as I enjoy having a handsome man straddling me, Bill..." Remus began, "...I'd really like to get dressed."

Bill turned his head to give him a look of hurt confusion.

"I'm not going to run naked through the corridors of Headquarters to get to my own bed," he continued. "Certainly not when I'm nursing a visible erection and being trailed by Bill Weasley. People might get ideas."

"Ideas?" Bill asked, lips quirking up in a smile. Remus wanted those lips. In very specific places.

"Well they might think I wanted to lock the door and fuck you blind," Remus murmured. "For a start."

Bill nodded, and moved off of him, passing him various articles of clothing. 

"Let's go hide from your mother," Remus said with a grin. "And I'll show you exactly how to take me apart..."


	27. Warm Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is struggling -- but Bill can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus Lupin/Bill Weasley)  
> Warnings: None

"Well, you fucked that one up."

Remus Lupin, who had been quite happily contemplating knocking himself cold on a convenient piece of architecture, if only to stop the pounding headache and get himself a decent night's sleep, did not look up.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, without removing his hand from his eyes. "Please tell Ginny I'm sorry. I'll apologise to her in the morning."

"She just wanted to get your help," Bill said, from the far end of the kitchen. Remus opened his eyes, looking down at the grain of the table between his elbows. Then it made the headache worse, and he closed them again. 

"Bill, if you're going to punch me for making your baby sister cry, please do it and get it over with so I can go upstairs and pass out," Remus replied. There was a quiet laugh from Bill.

"I'm not going to hit you. Not unless Ginny can see it. What'd be the point? Besides, she should know better than to bother you at the end of the day. We're all tired."

"Like you said," Remus repeated, "She just wanted my help. But she wouldn't be quiet, and my head..."

"Another one?"

"I thought they'd fade after the full moon, they always do."

"But not anymore," Bill said, drinking from a chipped but serviceable mug. He settled into a chair on the table near Remus, who didn't bother to look up; even the dim light of the kitchen hurt his eyes. "How many is this?"

"Four in five days. They go away. It's probably something...lunar."

"Very scientific of you, professor."

"Please don't call me that, Bill."

"Ah. Oh -- right. Guess that's a bit of a sore spot."

Remus privately wondered if any of the Weasley children had been trained in tact at any point, ever. He pressed his fingers just below the ridge of his brow, trying to find the magic pressure spot at which the pain would go away.

"We...that is, dad and I..." Bill began hesitantly, then paused. "It's not like we sat down and had a serious talk on the subject, mind, but I mentioned you, and he said he thought -- well, I agree with him, but of course what do we know..."

Remus waited patiently for Bill to continue, not feeling up to prompting anyone right now. 

"We think you might be overdoing it a bit." Bill blurted. 

Remus took his hand away from his eyes long enough to focus blearily on Bill. "Overdoing what?" he asked. 

"This. The job. Everything. If you're not out risking your neck, you're here, in this awful old place. It isn't right, Lupin."

"Nothing to be done. I'm needed. I'm not wealthy or handsome or particularly skilled, but I'm needed," Remus said, with a dry note to his voice that he did try to hide. 

"You're valuable to the Order."

"Just another warm body -- "

"That's not true and you know it."

Remus put his face in his hands again. "Fine. I'll sleep more."

"That's probably why your head hurts, you know," Bill added helpfully. "Tension and whatnot. Here, are you seeing Nymphadora Tonks?"

Remus paused.

"Only, Mum said she thought you were, and I think if you are, you ought to at least -- "

"Please, Bill, no more," Remus said suddenly. 

"Right then." Bill waited. "Are you?"

"Seeing Nymphadora Tonks? I'm not a cradle-robber, Bill."

Bill scowled. "She's not that much younger than I am. We're hardly kids."

"No, I'm not seeing Nymphadora Tonks. I'm not seeing anyone. Perhaps if I were, we wouldn't be having this lovely conversation. Did you make enough water for another cup of tea?"

Bill clapped him on the shoulder and stood, crossing to the kettle. There were the various steel-on-ceramics noises of tea being prepared and honey being stirred in, before another mug thunked onto the table near his elbow. He opened his eyes and picked it up, inhaling the steam that rose. 

Bill grinned at him as he sipped, raised his eyebrows, and blew on the surface of the tea.

"Is that firewhiskey?" he asked, tasting the alcoholic tang of the drink.

"Relax you a bit," Bill answered. 

They sat silently, Remus drinking the hot tea almost hungrily, Bill sipping his own unspiked cup more slowly, savoring it. Remus wondered if Bill could see his shoulders relaxing, the way he could feel them doing. He bowed his head over the cup, just as Bill took it out of his hands to refill it. He could feel the firewhiskey loosening the muscles across his back, forcing the tense knots in his guts to relax. After the second cup, he slouched a little, feeling new looseness in his neck. 

"Better?" Bill asked. 

"Yes. Thank you," Remus replied. "I really am sorry I snapped at Ginny."

"Don't tell me," Bill said. "She's getting old enough to fight her own battles. I'll encourage her to claw your eyes out, if you like."

"She's not the sort of girl to do that," Remus murmured. "Very sweet, Ginny. A good girl."

"You have met our Ginny, haven't you?" Bill asked. Remus accepted another refilled cup, and drank. 

"She's a Weasley. You're all that way, deep down. Probably genetic or something," Remus replied, a little fuzzily. 

"Charlie's always on about genetics. Can't fathom it myself," Bill said. "Like a hand up to bed?"

Remus glanced up at the rather earnest-looking young man. "What?"

"Lightweight."

"Sod off, Weasley."

"Going for a record number of us offended in one evening then? Let mum see you drinking, it'll make three," Bill grinned. "Come on, old man -- "

"Not old," Remus muttered. 

"Figure of speech, Lupin," Bill said, steadying him as he rose. "Headache gone?"

"Mostly."

They climbed the stairs, Bill's hand under Remus' elbow, guiding rather than supporting. 

"So you aren't seeing anyone at all?" Bill asked, as they reached the landing and continued up to the next floor.

"Who would I see?" Remus asked. 

"Well, there is Tonks. Or Emmaline Vance, if you're so all-fired about not robbing the cradle. Or Minerva McGonagall," Bill added impishly.

"Not my type."

"Don't like women who turn into cats?"

"Don't like women," Remus mumbled. "Here's my door. You're a mate, Bill."

Bill was staring at him.

"What?" Remus asked.

"You all right?" Bill said uncertainly.

"Am now," Remus tried to smile cheerfully. "I'll hate you tomorrow when I'm hung over."

"You don't like women?" Bill stammered. "At...at all?"

Remus stared at him.

"Did I say that?" he asked finally.

Bill leaned forward and kissed him. 

It was an extremely good kiss. Clearly not Bill's first. Good aim, firm pressure, tongue darting out against his lips...

The red-haired man leaned back, tanned face flushing a little. Remus licked his lips, and noticed that this made the blush deepen.

"Shouldn't've done that," Bill said, glancing away. "Sorry."

"Er...Bill...do you like women?" Remus asked. Bill still wouldn't look at him. He touched the younger man's chin, turning his face so that they were eye to eye. 

"Dunno," Bill said petulantly. 

"That's something you might want to sort out, if you're going to go about kissing people," Remus observed.

"I...Fleur's all right. She's sort of fun. For about ten minutes," Bill said. "But...you know Oliver Wood?"

"Mm. Yes," Remus said, leaning in the doorway. 

"He's fun for hours. I mean just to talk to and all. I get sort of nervous around him, but it's....it's a good kind of nervous -- "

Remus ducked his head. It would figure that he'd get stuck with Ginny in a hyperactive hour and Bill wanting to confess the Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name to Oliver Wood. Who was, admittedly, sex on a broomstick. 

"Like you," Bill added. "Like when we were showing Ron how to tackle that Haint in the third-floor linens cupboard, and you told that story about a Haint you met in the mountains once. That was fun." 

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Not that it's ever been tried," Remus muttered. 

"What about three mugs of firewhiskey?" Bill asked. Remus leaned back, tilting his head up, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm tired," he said. "And my head still hurts."

"Right," Bill answered, in a voice that was trying very hard not to be hurt. "I'll let you sleep, then?"

"Could you lend a hand? You got me into this state," Remus reminded him, fumbling with the sleeve of his jacket. Bill straightened it out, pushing it off his shoulders. Remus slipped into the bedroom, gesturing him along, tossing the offending jacket on a chair.

"But it did help, though?" Bill asked. 

"Somewhat," Remus replied. "Bloody -- buttons, Bill. Help me."

Bill bent his head to get a better view of the buttons on Remus' shirt, undoing them carefully, one at a time. When he was done, he lifted his head, but Remus was staring at him, hands helpless at his sides. So Bill slid a hand under the shirt, over warm skin and up across his chest, pushing the shirt off his left shoulder. He repeated the move on his right, and as his palm passed over the ridge of a collarbone, Remus gasped and closed his eyes.

Bill put his hands on the other man's shoulders, thumbs pressing into the hollows made by the collarbones, just below the throat. He stroked slowly upwards, over the jaw, smoothing a tense knot away. Remus had his head lifted, eyes shut, almost trembling, and Bill was worried his attempt at a cure was going to have the opposite effect. 

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

"Everywhere," Remus answered.

Bill smiled a little and ran his fingers around, cradling the back of Remus' head almost clinically. His fingers found the small hollow just below the skull, rubbing gently. His thumbs pressed behind Remus' ears, tangling in shaggy, greying brown hair. 

"Dangerous, Bill," Remus said, as Bill ran his hands down over his shoulderblades, pulling their bodies flush with each other. "You're too young."

"Yes, and I'm taking advantage of an intoxicated man, so you see we're both committing a sin," Bill answered, kissing the corner of his lips. 

"When you put it like that..." Remus let his own hands slide up Bill's arms, over his shoulders. His right hand found Bill's left ear, brushing the fang that hung from the piercing. Bill smiled and tilted his head, so that Remus' fingers tugged on it, gently.

"There's a story behind that," Bill said, bending slightly for a more thorough kiss, Remus' mouth opening easily to accept him. 

"You'll have to tell it to me," Remus replied, his other hand sliding along Bill's hip, down his thigh.

"I could show you," Bill said, reaching one hand up to cover Remus', removing the earring deftly. He held the base of the fang between his fingers, and touched the tip to one of the other man's temples. Remus closed his eyes, and Bill slid the point down over his cheek, not quite deep enough to cut, leaving a small, faint red line behind. The older man's lips twitched when Bill turned the tooth so that smooth flat bone slipped over them. 

Remus didn't move as the point pressed his skin again, over chin, down the curve of his throat, skating lightly over his chest. 

When it reached the waistband of his trousers, Bill flicked it, and the button on his fly was sliced off cleanly. 

"Handy tool," Remus said, leaning closer. Bill let the fang fall to the floor, and pushed the loose trousers off his hips, stripping him completely in the process. Remus fumbled at Bill's shirt-hem, but Bill caught his hands, stopping them.

"Just for once," he said quietly, "you're not required to think, Lupin."

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Bill kissed him when he did, and the slick warm feel of Bill's tongue in his mouth made him moan instead. 

"Let me," Bill said softly, when they stopped for breath. Remus nodded against his cheek. 

You would never do this, a small rational voice said. Stripped naked in front of Molly's oldest son -- Ron's older brother -- 

"Stop thinking," Bill ordered. "Stop it. Remus."

"What do I do instead?" Remus whispered. 

"Feel," Bill answered. "Feel my fingers on your arms? Feel my shirtfront, against your chest." He kissed the side of Remus' neck, sliding down over his shoulder and chest. "Feel my voice on your skin," he said, softly. Remus trembled with the sudden wash of sensation, the pain still lingering in his head adding edge to the sensual way Bill was exploring his body with callused fingertips. 

He could sense it when Bill knelt, the heat of his body moving away, hands drawing down to steady Remus' hips. A kiss along the ridge of hip-bone, another low on his thin belly. And then warm, close heat, Bill's mouth around him, moving gently. The pain sharpened everything, and he thought he could feel the very texture of his lips -- he could sense every individual curl of Bill's long hair as his fingers caught in it, trying to control the way Bill moved, but the younger man stubbornly refused to follow. Every flick of Bill's tongue across skin made sensitive by arousal and desire, need -- 

He shifted his hips, trying to thrust, but Bill pinned him, leisurely stroking up and down until Remus let out a growl of frustration. Then the redhead smiled and all at once the sensation and speed and feel were overwhelming. He tilted his head back, breath coming short and fast, feeling as though he stood at a knife's edge, and then he was falling -- 

Bill caught him as he sank down, licking his lips, and his kiss tasted salty and bitter. Remus rested boneless against his body, breathing deeply, awash in sensation. Bill stroked his hair, murmuring nonsense words. 

When he finally could think again -- it was difficult to start, once one had stopped -- he slipped a little, resting his head on Bill's shoulder. 

"Why?" he asked softly. Bill chuckled, deep in his throat.

"Headache cure," he replied. Remus tried to figure out if he should be amused or mildly offended, and decided to simply rest. 

"I should repay the favour," he said, after a while. Bill lifted one of his hands, guiding it down to where his own erection strained against his tight trousers. Remus stroked it, almost sleepily, and smiled when he heard the hitch in Bill's breath. And then the moan, and the curse, and his own name, as Bill began to buck against him. 

"Please," Bill almost whined, fingers gripping him closer now. Remus curled his fingers a little tighter, moved more quickly, and when Bill tensed and thrust and shuddered against him, he smiled into the other man's neck.

Eventually Bill cleared his throat and stood, hauling Remus up with him, holding him close for a deep and rather lazy kiss.

"How's your head?" Bill asked, as they moved together towards the bed, Remus working the buttons on his shirt in earnest this time. 

"Better," Remus murmured. "It goes away when I sleep."

Bill shrugged out of his shirt, pushing Remus down onto the blankets as he tugged his trousers off. 

"Then you should sleep," he said. 

Remus nodded, burrowing under the covers, eyes closing. Bill put out a hand, hovering it over his cheek.

"Stay," Remus slurred, already slipping into sleep. There was a silent moment, and he opened his eyes. Bill was looking down at him with a strange sort of half-smile on his face, eyes alight.

"Stay," Remus repeated, and felt another body climb under the blankets. He curled close. "Warm body," he mumbled. 

Bill, broad arm curling around the slim man's waist, pulling him close, was silent. When he was sure Remus was asleep, he lifted the hand, smoothing the grey hair at his temple. 

"In the morning," he whispered, "you'd better tell Ginny you're sorry."


	28. Handler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Remus met Charlie, the wolf sat up and begged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Charlie)  
> Warnings: None

In his time at Hogwarts Charlie had been good friends with Hagrid, and there were good reasons for that. They were both fascinated by wild magical creatures; Charlie understood Hagrid's love of ugly, vicious creatures, and did not in himself think of them as such at any rate. 

Remus Lupin was not a magical creature and would have been insulted (though politely so) to be called that, but the similarity in Charlie's mind was all too clear. Most people who loved Remus loved him in spite of the wolf; Charlie sometimes felt that he nearly loved Remus because of it. 

He'd seen it, once; he'd blackmailed Bill into breaking the lock on Remus' door and crept into the room where the wolf lay sleeping, and he'd thought the glint of moonlight on werewolf fur was beautiful, though it patently wasn't. The wolf had whined softly, like a dog in pain, and Charlie had lost his heart to a man who thought of him as Ron's older brother, or Arthur's second son, or the one that liked dragons -- nothing more, nothing less.

But every full moon Charlie listened for the howl that he wished was for him.

***

For the longest time, and to Remus' complete bafflement, he couldn't tell Bill and Charlie apart.

Part of it was that he'd never actually met the older Weasley brothers. He had no trouble discerning the rest, but he'd only heard of the older boys in theory, and so could never recall which lived in Egypt and which was a dragon handler -- or was the one who lived in Egypt the dragon handler? And if so, which one?

When he'd met Charlie, though, he'd known instantly. The wolf had sat up and begged.

Charlie was good with animals, it was clear, and the animal which Remus tried hard to hide knew it. Charlie had a firm grip, a nice smile, and the unmistakeable air of Master. 

Remus had a lot of time to think about Charlie, in the quiet days before and after the full moon, when he spent most of his time in bed, reading and writing. Molly made sure nobody bothered him, which he was questionably grateful for. He had a lot of time to wonder whether Charlie would mind a bloke making a pass at him, especially an older bloke, and if his lycanthropy might give him a leg up (to get a leg over, hah) in this case.

By the time he was up and around and in any kind of condition to try, however, his good sense usually returned, and he chalked up the rest to remnants of the wolf.

And that was all.

After all, Charlie was the one who was good with animals.

***

The thing was, Remus was really smart. Really smart. Professor Snape type of smart, only without Professor Snape's bad habit of vocally flaying the skin from a person's body. Charlie had never really been book smart, except when it came to Magical Creatures. The words just came more easily then, and the dragon handlers had their own language that Charlie slipped into more comfortably than the stiff Latin and big words of magical academia. 

But he really liked book smart, in other people, especially nice book smart. It made him want to hang about that sort of person just to see what he could learn. Which usually led to him doing stupid things, but that was what being young was for. It was a built-in excuse for stupid, Youth.

"I'll take that up, Mum," he said, deftly lifting the tray of food good for a recuperating werewolf out of her hands. Molly had actually come to him, to Charlie, to find out what werewolves ought to eat, and Charlie had nearly burst with pride and gone off to find out. He felt it was only fair that at least just this once, he get to take it up to Remus. 

He liked the way Remus looked even after a change, cheekbones sharp and eyes unusually bright, a hint of animal still lurking under the surface. It soothed him to know how to handle the animal, and so he knew that instead of fussing as his mother did, he ought to set the tray down and let Remus smell it, and then perhaps he might be allowed to scoot closer and eat a few scraps of the food in cameraderie. Sharing food was a good way to bond with an animal as long as you understood that it had first dibs and you were just an interloper. 

They ate in companionable silence, Charlie strangling for something to say to make Remus say something smart he could listen to. Finally Remus sipped the last of the chicken broth and turned to him and said "Charlie, you fancy blokes, don't you."

There was a gasp from the doorway and Charlie turned to see his mum staring, a forgotten glass of juice for Remus in one hand. They both stared at her for a minute, until finally she walked in and set the juice silently on Remus' tray. Charlie, flushing red from embarrassment, had no idea what to say until Remus caught Molly's wrist and smiled at her, gently.

"Ten percent of the population, seven children -- the odds favoured at least one," he said. "Be glad it's the smartest one."

Molly looked at him, and looked at Charlie, and then nodded slowly. After she left Charlie sat in thought for a few minutes, wondering how Remus knew and why he'd said Charlie was the smartest when that was so obviously not the case.

And then he decided flight was a pretty good option, and took it. 

***

Thanks to the Wolfsbane, brewed as bitterly by Snape as it tasted, Remus was usually walking around again by the day after the full moon; he didn't handle stairs very well, but he had his cane and as long as there was no hurry, sooner or later he got where he was trying to go.

He had intended to search Grimmauld Place to see if Charlie was still there, but he made it to the kitchen and decided that was victory enough for one morning. Clearly Charlie had to eat, and where did one go to get food? The kitchen. He would do the intelligent thing and lie in wait. He tried not to think about how he'd seen dogs waiting for their humans by the door. He was being efficient, not canine. 

Besides, there was tea in the kitchen and, ever prepared, Remus had left books in every room in the house for just such an emergency as this.

He was reading, or at any rate pretending to read while actually focusing on beating out perfect 4/4 time on the sides of his teacup with his spoon, when Charlie did indeed arrive. Neither of them spoke; Charlie moved slowly and smoothly, and Remus decided he was employing a technique Remus himself had often used while trying to feed stray cats. He continued to sip his tea.

"I'm gay," Charlie said finally. Remus glanced up. "I was planning on telling mum as soon as things settled down a little. I didn't want to make a fuss. Bill knows. Did he tell you?"

"No," Remus said, levering himself up with his cane, unsettled by having to look up at a man he was normally four inches taller than. "I actually had no idea, but I thought if I said it like I did, you might be more likely to say yes. Stupid, really, but it appears to have worked, so three cheers for sympathetic magic." 

Charlie turned to face him in a kitchen that was suddenly very small. He was still moving slowly, almost cautiously. Remus didn't blame him. In fact it made it easier, since Remus didn't have much choice about moving slowly, for the older man to move two clumsy steps forward and press Charlie against the kitchen sink and kiss him breathless. 

Charlie let him, and kissed back just enough to taunt him into deepening it; he whimpered a little, and touched Remus' face as their bodies made contact and oh -- 

"Oh," said a deep voice, behind them, and Remus pulled back. Charlie leaned over his shoulder to see who it was, but both of them already knew; Remus resolutely refused to turn around.

"Dad," Charlie said. "Hi. Um. You probably want a sandwich. Has, have you spoken with mum recently?"

"I'll just -- there's a shop right down the street -- " Arthur's voice said, vaguely panicked. "It's just your mum said you had something to tell me -- but I think that's all right -- hallo Remus..."

"Hi, Arthur," Remus said, trying not to laugh.

"I'll just be...off then. We'll, er, speak at dinner," Arthur said, and they heard his hurried footsteps up the stairs. Charlie rested both hands on the sink, and looked down.

"I'm sorry, Charlie, I generally don't go from asking if a fellow fancies men to kissing them without a few more intervening questions," Remus said, aware that he was babbling and unable to stop. "I didn't ask if you were involved with anyone or if perhaps you'd rather a man ten years older than you didn't kiss you in the middle of the kitchen in front of your father and all creation..."

"Remus," Charlie said, and there it was again. Remus lapsed into expectant silence. Charlie smiled.

"Good," he said, and nibbled on Remus' lower lip a little. Remus waited, still, until Charlie kissed it, and then until he kissed him properly, before he responded again. He made a little whining noise in his throat that seemed to be the reason Charlie suddenly had his arms around Remus' waist and was definitely the reason Charlie had his tongue in Remus' mouth.

"Good," Charlie said again, as he broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. "That's very good." 

***

Callused, freckle palms, a little red still here and there with dragonfire burns, the tips of the fingers soft still for working with the young ones, sensitive and clever. Remus moaned as a single finger slipped down from clavicle over ribcage and paused just above the last button on his threadbare white shirt.

Charlie's lips were slightly chapped, rough from outdoor weather, but his smile was broad and perfect, and Remus felt he could probably live on kissing Charlie instead of food; he went hungry without the flick of tongue across them and the way Charlie always told him how good it was. 

Narrow hips pinned him against the wall in Charlie's room in the creaking old house, the tight hard bulge against his thigh moving slowly as Charlie moaned into his neck, fingers still dancing across his chest and holding his shoulders down gently when he tried to move. Charlie had a body that was all muscle and sleek skin, and Remus loved to feel it against his own scar-ridged back when they were in bed, when Charlie held him close and pushed inside him and stroked with those clever, clever hands. 

But he liked it just as well when he pulled Charlie up against him and they kissed and slid against each other and there was something wonderfully animal about the way Charlie made him feel. As if he was allowed to be the wolf just for once, just for a little while, just with this man who wasn't afraid of the wolf, who respected it instead. Shirt half-off and belt unbuckled and his hands in Charlie's thick red hair, hips bucking together, he could let the world go, and when Charlie moved his hips like that and growled his name and told him it was good he was almost -- 

Charlie froze, suddenly, and Remus gasped desperately for air. He could feel his pulse thud in every nerve in his body, and he was about to ask why Charlie had stopped and please could they continue when he saw Charlie had turned to look at something somewhere off to their left, back in the real world. He turned too.

Ron, crimson-cheeked, was sprawled on the floor in the hallway outside Charlie's bedroom door, where he had, apparently, tripped over the bottom of the doorframe in his hurry to retreat. Charlie shifted and Remus bit down on his lip, turning away as he came because the last thing Ron now needed to be traumatised with was seeing his former professor have an intense orgasm with his older brother.

He watched and caught his breath as Charlie helped his younger brother to his feet and quite calmly steered him down the hallway and closed his door. When he had thoroughly locked it, he leaned against it and began to laugh, and Remus laughed too, sinking slowly to his knees, leaning against Charlie's thigh. Charlie's hand smoothed his hair, and when Remus pressed his face to Charlie's groin and nuzzled there, Charlie sucked in a breath and bucked his hips as he came, too. 

Remus caught him as he slid raggedly down the wall, and they kissed like that, curled together on his floor, and it was just as good as Charlie said.


	29. Head Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy definitely needs to calm the hell down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Percy)  
> Warnings: Student/Teacher.

In the sleep-addled brain of Remus Lupin -- which, finding the past a more pleasant place, often spent its unconscious time there -- the banging noises he heard as he woke could mean only one of two things. Either Peter had locked himself out of the Tower again, and was using the Knocking Charm to summon the Prefect to unlock it, or James and Lily were banging the headboard again. He strongly suspected the former. 

Then he opened his eyes as he rolled out of bed, and found himself standing not in the Seventh-Years' dormitory room in Gryffindor Tower, but rather in a dark, cosy room that belonged to a Professor -- 

\-- oh, that was him -- 

And now the knocking was worse, because it meant, at this hour of the morning, that something was horribly wrong and he was going to have to help fix it. 

He pulled a shirt around his chest, making sure the drawstring holding his pyjama pants was tied as he hurried through his rooms and threw the door open.

Percy Weasley stood on the other side, looking pale and rumpled. His Head Boy badge was pinned to his collar as neatly as ever, however, and he didn't look as though he'd been woken. Remus raised a hand self-consciously to his own hair, which was standing ridiculously on end, one side slightly matted. 

"Percy," he blurted. "What's wrong? Is it Black again?"

"N - no -- " Percy said, apparently taken-aback by his half-on pyjama shirt and the wildness of his hair. "I...."

Remus waited, blinking, trying to force his sleepy brain to wake up. "Did Dumbledore sent you to fetch me?" he asked helpfully. Percy seemed to colour a little.

"I had a question," he said.

Remus paused.

"A question?"

"Yes -- about one of your lessons -- my notes weren't clear -- I've been studying for NEWTs..." Percy took Remus' exhausted leaning on the door for an invitation inside, and brushed past him into the room. "I'd really like to be top in all of them, but Defence isn't my strong point -- "

"Percy," Remus said, as Percy began digging through a bag of tightly-rolled scrolls. "You came here to ask me a question?"

"That's right -- here it is -- "

"Can I ask you one first?"

Percy paused, and looked up. "A drill? Oh, excellent -- "

"What time is it, Percy?"

Percy looked thoughtful. "Well, I could cast a Chronologos spell, or summon a watch from my rooms, or -- "

"Just look at the clock, and tell me what time it is," Remus said tiredly. Percy squinted at the old antique mantel-clock, in the gloomy-dark room.

"Coming on quarter-past three," he said promptly. 

"Do you happen to know what time breakfast is at?"

"Well, it ends at eight-thirty..."

"So eight-thirty minus three-fifteen is?"

"Five and a quarter hours."

"Now I want you to listen to this question carefully, Percy. What detail of one of my lectures, for which you actually have notes, could not wait five and a quarter hours to be asked?"

He realised as soon as he'd said it that it was the wrong thing to say; a Professor wasn't supposed to lose his temper or be short with students, at least, not a Gryffindor professor. He sighed, and sank into his chair, resting his forehead in his fingers. Too near the full moon. 

"That was wrong of me, Percy, I apologise," he said. "Did you realise it was this late?"

Percy hung his head. "No. I was up studying -- I thought you might still be up..."

"Up this late studying, you're not doing yourself any favours," Remus said softly. "You should be spending this time sleeping. Believe me. I saw students burn out doing less than you do, Percy."

"Oh, I like studying -- "

"And I like chocolate, but you can't live on it."

Percy gave him a shy smile. 

"You are allowed one three-am flip-out, Percy, but I'm afraid you've used yours up," Remus continued. "If you can't sleep, you should see Madam Pomfrey. But if you won't sleep, then that's something I need to take up with Deputy Headmistress McGonagall."

"Oh -- please don't -- "

Remus held up a hand to stop his frantic protestations. "I'm not going to. This time. But I am also," he added, as Percy opened his mouth, "Not going to answer your question at three in the morning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor." Percy looked down at his hands. "It's just if I can't find the answer sometimes I can't sleep, and I get jittery, and then the next morning -- "

"Believe me, Percy, I've heard all the horror stories. I know." Remus leaned back, smiling slightly. "When I was a seventh-year...my mates and I were all mad. But it's not as bad as you think, and not as important as you think -- no, it's not. When I finally realised that, I did the sensible thing, and when NEWTs finally rolled around I was the only one who had the energy after they were done to go out and celebrate."

"But -- how could you sleep, knowing that there was something you didn't know?"

"There were lots of things I didn't know. Don't know. I made a list, and then if I was still anxious, I tried...thinking about other things. Tension is endemic to the population of Hogwarts, Percy, but there are ways past it."

"Like?" 

Remus paused. If he were fully awake he never would have said it, but he was still sleepy and his tongue had a mind of its own. He stood, and put his hands behind his back, pacing a little. "Wanking."

Percy's furious flush of colour turned his face almost as red as his hair. "What?"

"You're seventeen, don't tell me you don't know what wanking is."

"No -- but I -- you're a Professor!" Percy tracked his pacing with his eyes. 

"And?" Remus asked.

Percy looked stunned.

"You've a young woman you go out with, don't you?" Remus inquired. "Penelope, the Ravenclaw girl, yes? She's probably just as tightly-wound as you are right now."

"A -- are you suggesting I -- "

Remus smiled. "Well it's not like I'm going to fail you if you don't, Percy, but it is an awfully good way to relax, and there are studies that say -- "

"I'm not going to go wake Penelope up at three in the morning and -- "

"But you woke me up?" Remus asked mildly.

Percy blinked.

"You used to be a Prefect," he said miserably. "I saw on the rosters. And your NEWTs scores were third in your class."

"James and Sirius always beat me out," Remus murmured.

"I thought you'd understand."

Remus looked at the boy, really looked at him, for possibly the first time. Not particularly tall or short, third of seven children, with the same red hair and freckles they all had. High cheekbones, narrow face, not quite as handsome as the photos he'd seen of Bill and Charlie but far more delicate and well-formed than Arthur, or even Ron and the twins. Almost feminine, except for a ruthless sort of intellectual ambition underlying a geeky exterior that was all too familiar. 

"Why are you staring at me?" Percy asked, his voice hushed. 

"I'm trying to think what to tell you," Remus lied, his own face flushing as red as Percy's had been a moment ago. He'd stopped rather close, he realised; through skin numb from exhaustion he could almost feel Percy's physical presence.

"Hogwarts isn't very private," Percy said finally. "Just finding a place where Penelope and I could go would be a challenge."

"Well, there's always the Prefect's bathroom," Remus said with an attempt at a grin. 

"Wish we had our own rooms, like the professors do," Percy grumbled. 

"You're considering it, then."

"Well, I -- " Percy turned to face him fully, and Remus almost drew back at the sheer intensity -- he should not have been thinking about how Percy looked or how his intelligence gleamed at the back of his green eyes. 

Intelligence was just about the most erotic thing Remus could name. Ever.

"I usually...do...what my professors tell me to do..." Percy said haltingly. He had to crane his head just a little to meet Remus' eyes, and Remus had to bow his, and it was such a bad idea to even have mentioned wanking as an extracurricular assignment...

"Yes, it's one of your better features," Remus murmured, moving closer. Percy didn't back away. 

"So if you told me to..." Percy said, lips almost touching Remus', eyes now closed, body taut and trembling, "...do that, I don't see how I could -- "

Remus was never sure whether it was just that Percy, with his lack of sleep, lost his balance, or whether it was that he himself, not fully awake, made an incredibly bad judgement call. Either way, the next thing he noticed was that Percy tasted like toothpaste, and who would have thought a seventeen-year-old would know that trick with his tongue? 

Percy moaned and his slim body moved closer, pressing against Remus, his reaction to the earliest suggestion now all too evident. Fingers were re-ordering his already mussed hair, curving around his ears, he's a student what are you thinking you've got your hands on a student followed quickly by a far more petulant voice pointing out he started it...

Percy was rubbing against him now, making urgent throaty noises, face pressed to his neck as Remus slid his hands under the waistband of his trousers, nimble fingers feeling the smooth skin just below the small of his back. 

Well, said the most rational voice yet to speak -- or possibly the most irrational -- as long as it's Percy who enjoys this the most, it ought to be okay. You suggested it, after all.

And with that Remus Lupin, Professor, slid to his knees and pressed his face to Percy's hip, nuzzling the bare skin where his shirt had been tugged out. Percy's hands clenched in his hair.

"Professor," Percy whispered. "Professor Lupin -- "

"Mm?" Remus asked, turning so that he could look up at Percy's face.

"Please don't stop..."

Remus smiled, and his fingers began to tug the trousers down, belt unbuckled, flies undone, over thin hips -- Percy had a scholar's body, he thought, underfed from careless hours spend studying, but smooth, pale and unblemished.

He kissed Percy's hip, even though the younger man was almost entirely naked now, standing in the middle of his study and begging. It was terribly tempting to pull him down and take him right there on the carpet, but he was after all a teacher and he always put his students first...

Percy's hips bucked when he ran his tongue along the length of his cock, and he smiled as he did things he was sure Percy had never even thought to fantasise about -- remembering that yes, when he'd been a student there had been nights like this when he and James or Sirius or even Peter couldn't sleep for worry, and he'd learned from Sirius how to 

" -- fuck, Professor -- "

and when to take him in his mouth and move his tongue just like so, to make Percy plead for more and gasp that this was so good, that he had never felt this, that he was so warm and please, do that again, please. 

He slid his own hand down the front of his pyjama pants, knees spreading a little, Percy's moans making him ache with arousal. Percy, a student, here, with his cock in his professor's mouth... 

...whimpering and throwing his head back as he came, taking Remus over the edge with him, deft fingers doing their work well. 

Oh, Percy.

Remus leaned back, breathing hard. Percy had grabbed hold of a chair, and that seemed to be all that was holding him up, his own shoulders heaving. He looked down as Remus licked his lips and muttered a spell that would take care of any mess they'd made. 

After all, said yet another voice, a very amused one, it's not like your hair wasn't already messy.

"I see what you mean," Percy said, after a few moments where all that could be heard was their breathing. 

"Hands-on lessons, my specialty," Remus replied, and was surprised when Percy chuckled. "Think you can sleep now?"

"Oh -- " Percy yawned. "Yes...I...I think so..."

Remus slowly rose, straightening the collar of his shirt. "Er...you can write down what you wanted to ask me, and...tomorrow after class -- "

Percy smiled suddenly, a very sly, very secret, and very frightening smile. "I'll do that."

Remus coughed. "And if you're having trouble sleeping, I -- well, please, try not to knock after about midnight."

Percy nodded, and bent up to kiss him again, suprising him.

"Before midnight," he said, against Remus' lips, and then he was gone.

Remus, giving up on rational thought at all, stumbled back into his bedroom, and fell into the bed, cocooning himself in the blankets. He was so...very...

...sleepy...


	30. The Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fights are pretty exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Snape, Harry/Ron)  
> Warnings: None.

It was another fight again.

Remus was almost glad. He'd somewhat missed the fighting. 

He'd never fought with James and Sirius and The Boy Who Has Been Written Out Of Your Existence, Remus Lupin (they called him Wormtail and even then if he was in the room some of them would wince). Well, they'd rough-housed and all, but even then he'd been reluctant to take part. Werewolf strength snapped bones too easily, and teenage feelings were injured too quickly, for him to risk physical or verbal assaults. 

When Sirius came back the first time, back from Azkaban, he'd all but forgotten that he Didn't Fight With Sirius. It had been twelve years, after all. He'd grown up. He'd gotten into a lot of other fights with other people and he'd made other friends, which cut the desperation of please-like-me just a bit, though that never really went away. He still hated it when people didn't like him, but he didn't let it stop him from shouting anymore. 

The first time he and Sirius had disagreed on something, Sirius had been stunned to snap at him and find him snapping back. It had, for all intents and purposes, ended the fight through sheer surprise. 

But Sirius was still Sirius and even when they fought there was something beneath the sharp or shouted words; there was an underpulse that neither could ignore, which said now we might argue but when it ends it ends and we're still brothers, nothing changes that. Sirius knew that if Remus was insane enough to agree to help him kill That Boy Whose Name You Don't Say, Remus would stand by him when it really counted. Remus knew that Sirius didn't have anyone else, which was an odd sensation of power.

He'd missed the fighting after Sirius died. 

Perhaps Severus Snape knew that; Severus was one of the few people who really, truly, and permanently didn't like Remus, but he did, in his own way, notice things others didn't. And if he wanted someone willing to shout and be shouted at, Remus did appear to be the man. 

So Snape had started coming round Twelve Grimmauld Place more often, when Remus was there, and generally being his snide, sarcastic, less-than-charming self. He started objecting to Order plans on the barest of pretexts, and Remus was always the one sent to placate and convince him. This resulted in a lot of arguing, though Remus generally won out in the end. Occasionally a door would even be slammed. The Weasley children, who had grown up in a house where their parents' fights were almost laughably ridiculous, were frightened by the earnestness of the battles between Professor Snape and their old Professor Lupin. Hermione usually found Ginny and hid with her, since her own parents were eerily amiable. Harry just ignored them, most of the time. 

"You cannot expect me to accept that -- that errant child as a student again!" Snape shouted. 

"I'm not expecting you to, I'm ordering you to!" Remus replied, equally as loud. "This is not an optional elective at school, Severus! This is Harry's sanity and possibly his life!"

"Neither of which I particularly care about!"

"The Order's secrets are at stake," Remus said, trying to calm himself. He lowered his voice. "What Harry knows, Voldemort can pick from his brain. We both know that. Harry knows you're a double-agent -- "

"Harry Potter is an imbecile who ought to be locked up for the public good!" 

"You brutal bastard, he's sixteen years old!" 

"Then he ought to know enough to do as he's told!" Snape said, face flushing, stepping forward. Remus, who has seen far worse things than an angry Potions professor, stepped up too, so that they were eye to eye in the small meeting-room they'd gone to, to debate this particular problem. 

"You are still not being given an options, Severus," he growled. "Teach the boy or leave the Order."

"That sounds like a fine option to me."

"Do you care nothing at all for him? How can you stand there, you bastard -- "

"I care nothing? I care nothing? You're a threat to his life just by existing -- "

"How dare you, you bastard -- "

"Monster!"

"Snake!"

"Idiot Gryffindor!" 

"Cold-hearted -- " He was halfway through the insult when the other man moved, suddenly, and his reflexes kicked in; he brought his arms up to knock Snape's aside, and would have moved them through the arch to shove the man firmly in the chest, but Snape's mouth had already locked on his, and they had gone sprawling, off-balance, back into the wall. 

Remus struggled against the sudden and surprisingly firm weight pressing him down; he couldn't get any leverage, and he was too shocked to slide away. Severus' mouth was sealed against his, cutting off his breath; it was suddenly too warm to breathe anyway, and Remus finally stopped moving, letting the wall take his full weight. Severus finally released his mouth, and drew back. They stared at each other warily for a minute, Remus still pressed to the wall, chests rising and falling against the other's. Finally, Remus licked his lips. 

"Ah..." he said slowly. Severus was staring at him, dark eyes hooded, hair falling around his face. He tried to push himself up a little, using the wall as a prop. "Ah..."

"Don't speak," Severus snarled. He felt long, deft fingers pin his head back against the stone wall, and then he was being kissed again, drowning for air, there was no other way to describe it; he opened his mouth wider for breath and felt the other man's tongue flick over his teeth, before Severus tilted his head slightly and then he began kissing back, because there didn't seem to be anything else to do.

Suddenly the hard breathing turned to a sort of weight-shift, an urgent thrust of body-on-body timed to match the soft sounds they made whenever their lips slipped apart, and Remus tilted his head back when Severus bit his neck, not gently either -- viciously, as if he wanted to draw blood. He was being shoved into the wall, and didn't care, because one of Severus' lovely nimble hands was spreading across his belly as the other man moved, pinning him only half now, clawing off his belt and ripping at his already-threadbare trousers. 

Remus fumbled with Severus' own flies, untucking the usual black tunic he wore and flatting his hands against the thin waist, sliding them up over his chest as small buttons began to pop out of their holes. Severus growled and pressed closer, his left thigh between Remus' legs, hand wrapped around Remus' ribcage, holding him flat as he pushed against him. 

The other hand was tugging the threadbare trousers down, and then Remus found himself being turned; found his cheek pressed to the cold stone wall and his legs, now bare above mid-thigh, pushed apart as much as they would go. Severus, breathing raggedly in his ear, pushed against him, trousers unbuttoned but still on, erection hard through the fabric. Remus moaned and reached for his cock, but another hand had already crept down his side, and Severus grasped him, ungently.

"Make no noise," Severus grunted, in his ear, and Remus struggled to comply, even as Severus produced his wand and murmured a spell that filled him with a warm, slick, full sensation. He gasped silently, trying to draw sufficient breath, as he felt fabric press against him again, this time on his thighs. 

In a swift, sudden movement, he was being taken by Severus Snape, most of his clothing still on, thrust up against a wall in a houseful of people waiting in other rooms to hear the outcome of their argument, and now he understood the injunction to be silent. He was being kissed and bit and licked across his shoulders as one deft hand stroked his cock and the other held his hip so that wonderful, rough, hot pressure inside him wouldn't slip away. Suddenly, he was being fucked blind by a man who hated his guts and it felt so good -- 

"Silent," Severus moaned softly, as his thrusts grew quicker. "Quiet. No noise. Yes. Yes..."

Remus came obediently silent, against the wall, and he could feel the tension of his orgasm pull Severus down with him -- fingers clenching on his skin hard enough to leave bruises, if werewolves ever bruised. 

He caught his breath, panting, still pressed against cold stone. Behind him, Severus moaned into his shoulderblade, and pulled away. 

Neither of them had actually managed to get fully out of any particular article of clothing. Remus straightened, slowly, and felt a muttered Scourgify wash over him.

He closed his eyes, gathered his wits, and turned around, pulling his trousers back over his hips as he did so. 

"We must have a private training room," Severus said, and Remus blinked, confused, until he realised he was being conditions for Harry's re-acceptance as an Occlumency student.

"Easily arranged."

"The whelp must be held accountable. He's to be graded on his training. He can leave one of his other elective courses."

"I'll arrange it with Dumbledore."

"My reports will be made to you."

Remus met his eyes, and cocked his head. "Me?"

"To you," Severus repeated. His mouth, which had so recently been tasting every inch of Remus' skin within reach, quirked up slightly. "He respects you more than Dumbledore."

"Ah."

"Twice monthly. Here, or at Hogwarts. I expect you to discipline the boy if his progress is not satisfactory."

Remus considered. He was not blind to the implications of the personally-delivered progress reports.

He meditated briefly on the fact that he hadn't had an orgasm that good in years. Literally.

"Fair enough," he said finally. 

Snape gave him a curt nod, repaired the missing buttons on his shirt with a quick motion, shook his head to put his hair into order, and left. 

***

Harry and Ron, lying across a dusty four-poster and peering through the charmed spyhole they'd found, three rooms away, and looked at each other.

"Reckon he and Sirius ever did that?" Harry said thoughtfully. Ron propped his chin on his hands, while Harry rolled over -- then quickly rolled back. The bed shifted, and Ron bit his lip. 

"Looked like it hurt a bit," he said pensively.

"I dunno, looked like Professor Snape was enjoying it," Harry wrinkled his nose. There was a contemplative silence.

"Reckon we ought to give it a go sometime?" Ron asked hesitantly. "I mean."

"If people who don't even like each other -- "

" -- And we're best friends," Ron said hastily. Harry's hip bumped against his, and he bit his lip again.

"Guess we could look up that spell Snape used," Harry admitted.

"Let's not ask Hermione about that one."

"Tell you what," Harry added. "I'm er...going to...do an errand...but I'll meet you in the library? In fifteen minutes?"

"Best make it twenty," Ron said, not moving as Harry slid off the bed, for which Harry was very grateful. "And...there's that third floor room with the bolt on the door, we could uh...meet there to try out the spell."

Harry ran into Remus in the hallway, as they headed in opposite directions. Neither met the other's eye. 

Ron was less lucky. Severus Snape caught him looking at the books in the less legitimate section of the Black family library, and he had to quickly shove the book under his jumper before being ordered away -- though admittedly with less acid than usual, at least for Snape.

That fall, Severus Snape was scrupulously honest in reporting Harry's progress, or lack thereof, to the werewolf who resided at 12 Grimmauld Place, and Harry and Ron taught the spell to at least three other curious boys in their year at Hogwarts.


	31. Experiments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus experiments with a new Wolfsbane potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Snape)  
> Warnings: Dubcon involving intoxication.

"What on earth is it?"

Remus Lupin was seated at the workbench, in the small room Severus Snape had claimed as his own in the old Black mansion. It would have been quite a large room, actually, if Severus hadn't filled it with bookcases, books stolen from the downstairs library, potions specimens, and the enormous, burn-scarred workbench. It reminded him of novels he'd read as a boy -- it was, except for the ill-made bed in the corner, how he always pictured Sherlock Holmes' sitting-room would look. All it needed was V.R. picked out in bullet holes in one wall, he thought to himself...

And I guess that makes me Watson, for the moment.

The Potion Master's deft, thin fingers plucked the vial he'd been examining from his hand, and shook it. The cloudy purple liquid swirled. 

"An experiment," he replied. "A new variation on the Wolfsbane potion."

Lupin raised his eyebrows, interestedly. "Yours?"

"Yes," Severus said, keenly. 

"Can I ask why?"

"It was there to be done," Severus said with a shrug. Lupin cocked his head, and nodded. "And having a test-subject close to hand..."

"Which is your way of asking me if I'll try it," Lupin sighed.

"No. It's my way of saying you will," Severus replied. 

"You've gotten to know me a bit too well," said Lupin, with a smile. Severus did not smile back. 

"According to the research I've done, this should halt the transformation process entirely," he continued. "When taken in regular doses during the days of the full moon."

"Almost a cure," Lupin breathed. He held out his hand, and Severus placed the vial in it again. "Have you tried it at all yet?"

"I haven't had anyone to test on," Severus replied. "And I'm not ready to test it during the full moon yet."

"Then...?"

"I want to check for side-effects. That's a one-hour dose. Or should be," Severus corrected himself officiously. "Doses up to eight hours should be effective, but I've no guarantee yet."

"Shall I try it, then?" Lupin asked. Severus gave him an offhanded look. 

"I thought perhaps you'd want to choose your time."

"I've nothing planned for this evening, if you don't."

"Do I ever?" Severus asked, with a trace of bitter humour.

The testing process was typically thorough. Severus took his pulse, checked his eyes, and asked what he'd eaten that day; only then was Lupin allowed to uncork the vial and swallow it. He'd considered asking what was in it, but decided he didn't want to know.

"Tastes better than the Wolfsbane potion," he said, once he'd swallowed. 

"Oranges," Severus said shortly. 

"I was going to say..."

Severus made a note on a slip of parchment tacked to the table. "Any mental or physical state changes?"

"It's barely down, Severus, do give a man a minute to digest."

Severus nodded, curtly, and did not stop watching him. 

"If there aren't any, for the full hour, are we going to sit here and stare at each other?" Lupin asked.

"Do what you like," Snape replied. "My purpose is to watch you."

"And that's not at all offputting," Lupin said, under his breath. "All right if I read?"

Severus waved a hand at the bookshelves, and Lupin stood, examining the closest one. "I thought these were research books," he said, fingers sliding down the spine of a copy of MacBeth. "I'm surprised the Blacks even -- "

"That's my personal collection," Severus replied. "I brought them from Hogwarts."

"Seventeenth century," Lupin said quietly, with all the dignified love of books that the two scholars shared. 

"Look up, and two books to your left."

"A first edition?" Lupin asked, taking the book down reverently. He glanced at Severus, expecting the usual wary disapproval he always felt when someone else touched his books. Severus' eyes were hooded, utterly blank. "I didn't know you read Steinbeck."

Severus gave another elegant shrug. "I do."

Lupin let his hand drift past East of Eden -- he could read that anytime, had his own copy, and didn't want to abuse a first-edition. An anthology of the Great Wizarding Plays would do as well. 

It was unnerving, trying to read under Severus' continual, examining stare, but he settled himself into the wing-chair near the work-bench, and opened the book.

And then blinked.

He slid one finger down the page, experimentally, and caught his breath.

"Severus," he said quietly. "I think I'm starting to feel those side-effects."

Severus gave him an enquiring look. "Mental or physical?"

"Physical, I..." a wave of sensation washed over him. His clothes suddenly sat uneasily on his skin, as if the texture of the fibres had been increased, somehow.

"Yes?"

"Increased..." the weight of the book in his hands was too much, and he closed it, laying it aside. The movement of his shirt against his arm as he set the book down made him lose his train of thought. "Oh my," he said softly.

"Increased...?" Severus prompted. Remus looked up at him, and his collar brushed the side of his neck. He mastered a gasp, and swallowed. 

"Increased skin sensitivity," he said. "Um. Excessively."

Oh dear, he thought, trying to sit as still as possible. Even the pressure of his shirt and waistcoat were beginning to bother him. Oh dear, oh dear...

***

Severus watched with a scientist's fascination as Lupin laid the book aside. A look of confusion crossed the man's face, and he had to prompt him to finish his answer to the question. 

He noted the skin sensitivity on the parchment tacked to the table, and crossed his arms.

"Can you describe it?" he asked. Lupin looked up at him with unnaturally bright eyes.

"How detailed do you want?" he said hoarsely. 

"How much do you want the next person who takes it to know?" Severus replied. Really, Lupin, do the math...

"I can feel the texture of my clothing much more clearly," Lupin said, slowly and methodically, as though he were trying to talk over something his body was telling him. "When I move, I can feel the pressure changes."

"Can you stand?"

Severus watched as Lupin put his hands on the arms of the chair, seemingly winced, and pushed himself up. One of his hands drifted to the workbench, supporting himself lightly. 

"Balance?" Severus inquired. 

"Seems fine," Lupin said hoarsely. "I...oh."

Severus lifted an eyebrow.

"Severus, this is really quite...overwhelming," Lupin said, standing perfectly still. "How long did you say it would last?"

"An hour, give or take."

"An hour of this..." Lupin's hand went to his collar, undoing the top button. He sighed with relief when the stiff fabric opened away from his neck. 

"Is it painful?"

"Is that a question from the man or the scientist?" Lupin asked. He didn't wait for Severus to answer. "No. It is...the exact opposite of painful."

"Ah." Severus saw Lupin's significant look, and this time both eyebrows raised. "I see."

"What do you suppose..." Lupin stopped, suddenly. He'd reached up to rub the back of his head, and let out a small...well, Severus wasn't quite sure how to classify the sound he'd made. "It's...more intense now..." he managed. His eyes were wide, pupils hugely dilated.

"Any mental confusion?" 

"I don't...know..."

Severus bit down an amused smile. "Minister of Magic?"

"Cornelius Fudge."

"Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

Lupin gave him a sarcastic look. "Colin Creevy."

"Temper, temper," Severus said to himself, making another note. He glanced at a sand-timer on the desk, which had almost run its course. "I need to take your pulse again."

"I really don't think -- " Lupin began. Snape had grasped his wrist, fingers on his pulse, and was staring at a pocketwatch in his other hand, counting under his breath. When he looked up again, after a minute. Lupin was staring at him unsteadily. 

"Are you going to do that," he asked, roughly, "every five minutes, Severus?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not for you..." Lupin said faintly. He tugged at the next button on his shirt, pushing his collar further away from his neck. Severus watched in mild fascination as shivers ran over the muscles of his chest. 

"Do you mind if I...?" Lupin asked, fingers on the top button of his waistcoat. Severus shook his head, and the other man undid his waistcoat. Lupin moaned, softly, as it fell to the floor.

"This is no good, Severus, it's almost worse..." he said, shedding his shirt as well. Severus hadn't been expecting that, and he watched as the muscles along Lupin's arms shifted, when he pulled the sleeve off over his hand and tossed the shirt on the workbench. 

"I hope that's all you're taking off," he said, but his heart wasn't in the sarcasm.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?" Lupin asked.

"This is science, Lupin, not a peep show."

"Not from your perspective, anyhow."

For years Lupin had, Severus knew, worn clothes designed to make him blend in -- browns and greys, plain robes, shabby by necessity but unadorned by choice. Now he realised that it had also been designed to hide him physically. The man's ribs showed plainly under his skin, and he was whip thin, wiry muscles standing out on his shoulders and back. He wondered if anyone in the Order knew how obviously underfed the man was.

"Looking for scars?" Remus asked. He was standing as still as possible, head slightly bowed. He held out his arms. Pale lines criscrossed them. Severus could see the same patterns under his ribs.

"We heal quickly," Remus said. "But we still scar."

Severus took in the scars with a professional eye. He saw Remus' eyes dart to the sand-timer, which had run out again. 

Severus took one of the outstretched arms, pressing his fingers to the inside of it. Remus drew a sharp breath. Severus concentrated on his pocketwatch, and not on the way the other man's pulse was humming under his fingers. 

"Not unexpected," he said, snapping it shut. He bent to make a note -- 

Remus' fingers snapped around his wrist, so tight that a shock of pain went through him. He looked up, sharply, and saw that Remus was staring at him, breathing heavily. 

"Every inch of skin," he said, hoarsely. "Every inch of skin on my /body/, Severus..."

Severus watched pleasures and desire flicker through Remus' eyes, and found that he had no comeback for that.

"What did you /do/ to me..." Remus asked, face tightly controlled. "Did you /know/ -- "

"Of course I didn't -- " Severus began, sharply. He got as far as "didn't" before Remus pulled him forward and slid one hand around his neck. He had a brief vision of dark brown eyes before Remus' lips pressed against his, hungrily. 

He should have struggled, he reflected, as the other man's tongue slid against his lips. Definitely should have struggled...

Remus was right. He could taste the potion in his mouth. Citrus. Severus had a distracted moment of professional pride before Remus moaned and pulled him closer, and he felt his own hands slide along that slim, claw-scarred waist. Remus let out a breath that was closer to a whimper, and pressed his face to Severus' neck, lining kisses along his jaw. 

A single thought broke through, and he pulled back. It wasn't easy; the werewolf was a lot stronger than he looked.

"Taking advantage," he gasped. Remus, panting, stepped forward, then closed his eyes and stopped. After a moment to gain self-control, he moved again. Severus could see him consciously ignoring the sensation of his remaining clothing on his skin.

"I think I know what I'm doing," Remus said, low and throaty. Severus took another step back. "You owe it to me to test a few theories..."

"Theories?" Severus asked, unable to keep a twinge of sardonic amusement out of his voice. 

"What if the...sensations...lessen after they've been satisfied?" Remus asked. He moved forward again, hissing with pleasure, but his voice modulated to the teaching voice that all professors develop, after a while. "Does sexual climax negate these very interesting side effects? The werewolf community is demanding to know, Severus," he added, gripping the front of Severus' robe and pulling him close. "We're very vocal when we choose to be," he whispered. 

Severus wondered if he hadn't picked up some of that sensitivity from the kiss. Remus ran his lips down Severus' neck, hand tangling in his long hair. 

"I suppose that's a logical experiment," Severus muttered. Remus lifted his head to kiss him on the lips again. 

"Touch me," Remus said, into his mouth. "Touch me everywhere."

Severus drew back, a little, a small smile quirking his lips.

"I have to take your pulse," he murmured, nuzzling his way down Remus' neck. Remus cried out as his lips pressed to the pulse in his throat, sucking gently. "Maybe I should take it here..." he added, hands touching Remus' wrists, thumbs rubbing the inside of them gently. 

Then his arms shot out as Remus' knees buckled, and the brown-haired man fell against him. Remus laughed, and let himself be walked, slowly, the few steps to the bed. He lay back, eyes closing in pleasure as he wriggled slightly on the counterpane. Severus leaned over him, hands smoothing the hair away from his face. Remus opened his eyes.

"I think we ought to test magical ability," he said mischeviously. The small lines of buttons on Severus' robe and shirt began to undo themselves, and Remus pushed them off his shoulders as they came loose, fingers twining and rubbing against the soft fabric. He slid out of his own trousers, and closed his eyes again, rubbing his cheek against the pillow.

"Nothing wrong with your physiology," Severus said, straddling his waist as Remus' hips began to buck, involuntarily. He slid his hands down the smooth, scarred skin of his chest, and Remus growled. Actually growled. 

"If you do that again the experiment's going to end early," he gasped. Severus smiled, and bent to kiss him. 

"One of the most interesting experiments I've done in some time," he replied, sliding his hips against Remus'. The friction made the brown-haired man arch his back, fingers digging into Severus' arms. 

"Smooth," he murmured, sliding his hands down to grip his forearms. "Feels good..."

Severus swore when Remus arched his back again and let out a high whine, his whole body clenching, silent for the orgasm itself. He bit his lip when Remus relaxed, again, and fought down his own need until the other man opened his eyes. He knew the question was on his face.

"Ever the scholar," Remus murmured. He slid one thigh against Severus, and whined again. "Still...I still feel..."

Then he smiled, wickedly, and sat up, pushing Severus backwards until their positions were reversed, Remus kneeling over him.

"Maybe we both have to be satisfied," he said, with a crooked grin. Severus grunted and tangled his long, slim fingers in that straight brown hair as Remus bent to kiss him, swirl his tongue and oh...that mouth...

Remus lifted his head briefly, and smiled, and nipped gently. Severus saw stars. Then warmth enveloped him again, spreading through his body from every point Remus touched him, and he forgot how to breathe.

When he finally remembered, about a thousand years later, Remus had crept back up his body, and was kissing him again, the taste of citrus still in his mouth.

Citrus and licorice. Severus let his head fall back for a minute, and then opened his eyes. 

"I think I know what I did wrong," he said. Remus laughed.

"I don't think you did anything wrong, Severus..." he said. "It's starting to wear off, though -- " 

He watched, leaning back, as Severus slid out of the bed and went to his workbench, digging through the papers there. 

"Aniseed," he said, turning back. Remus gave him a long look, and he reached quickly for his robe, pulling it around his shoulders to at least preserve the illusion of modesty. "Aniseed and citrus."

"That easy?" Remus asked. Severus shook his head. 

"It's complicated, but if I can find a substitute -- "

"Severus."

The dark-haired man looked up from the papers. "What?"

"You can't change that formula."

"You don't think spending three days permanently sexually aroused is worse than spending them as a wolf?" Severus asked, darkly.

"Rework the potion. That's fine. But keep that combination," Remus said. He rubbed his cheek, and Severus watched his eyes close in pleasure. "You, my dear Potions Master, have bottled sexuality."

Severus scowled.

"The most potent aphrodesiac I, and possibly the world in general, have ever seen," Remus continued. He lay on his back, covering his face with his hands. "You don't want to go throwing it out." He grinned through his fingers. "For one thing, you could make a fortune with it."

"I don't want my name on some tawdry -- "

"Oh, make up a name then." Remus wriggled his body against the blanket again, and sighed. "For another thing..."

Severus caught his breath as the other man turned to stare at him with eyes that were still wide with desire. "...I rather enjoy it."

Then he began to laugh, head dropping down, muscles rippling across his shoulderblades.

"Amused?" Severus asked, quietly.

"I was thinking we'll have to work out the doses for humans," he said. "And I was thinking we ought to start with you."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"And then I thought, slip a little of this into the punch at the next Order meeting..." Remus went off into a roar of laughter at his own plan, and Severus shook his head.

"That's exactly the sort of thinking that got you into trouble at school," he warned.

"Me? No, I was the good boy," Remus said, watching Severus' deft fingers scrawl notes on the abandoned parchment. "I was the criminal mastermind. Never got caught."

"I'm not letting you near my potions."

"That's all right," Remus said, sliding off the bed. He walked to where Severus was standing, and leaned his chin on his shoulder. "Just let me near you once in a while. The rest'll take care of itself."


	32. Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They build a relationship around the transformation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Lupin/Snape)  
> Warnings: None.

It was difficult to surprise Severus Snape, but as Remus had been attempting to do so off and on for fifteen years, he'd learned a few methods. One of them was to be nice to him. Snape was unused to nice. It threw him off.

"Did you just ask me..." Snape trailed off, staring at him in something approaching shock.

"I realise it's messy, but -- "

"Are you utterly daft?"

Remus' lips quirked. "Why professor, now I know why all the children love you so."

"I've seen you before in that state, thanks, I'm not likely to want to see it again. Last time you tried to eat me. Both times."

"You were fifteen the first time, and either time you'd hardly make a decent meal anyhow -- oh, come on Severus, that was a joke. If I can laugh about it, surely you can by now."

But, Remus recalled, Severus Snape could laugh about very little, really.

"Listen, it's not like I want to give you a peep show, you know," he continued reasonably. 

"You want me to lock myself in a room with a slavering wolf and -- "

"I don't slaver. I haven't slavered in years. That's the whole point of the Wolfsbane potion."

"Which as you yourself have indicated is losing its efficacy."

Remus bowed his head. "Yes. Yes I have. And since I know precisely how it works, thanks to your excellent book recommendations on the subject and your constant reminders of the difficulty involved in brewing it for me, I know that the only way to study how the potion is affecting the subject is to observe transformations in progress."

"Hence, the casual request that I endanger my life and limb."

"Listen, I'm going to be naked and turn into an animal you know, it's not all roses for me either."

Remus saw Snape draw in a breath -- he thought, to say something -- and then let it out again. 

"Few people even have the opportunity. There are potions craftsmen who would kill for five minutes alone with a slavering werewolf during a transformation," he continued persuasively.

"Then why don't you pester them?"

"I don't trust them. Neither does the wolf."

Snape looked up sharply. Remus gave him his best disarming smile. "The wolf's always here, you know, but it's used to your scent. And I'm..." he shrugged. "Used to you."

"And the angels sang choruses," Snape muttered sarcastically.

"You're a bastard, Snape, and you're not even a fair bastard, but by god when someone tells you to do a job you do it," Remus said finally. "Which is an odd reason for trusting you, but there you have it," he added, spreading his hands.

He saw Snape's eyes dart down to them, watched them examine the fingers. Snape's own fingers twitched. 

"Trust?" Snape asked absently. Remus, sensing that it was not a question requiring a reply, let his hands fall.

"Who else would I?" he finally said. Snape seemed to break out of a reverie. 

"Indeed. Play the violins for lonely Lupin," he sneered, and Remus thought idly that twenty years ago that barb would have made him miserable for a week.

Of course, twenty years ago, he hadn't had twenty years of being alone.

"You'll make the arrangements," Snape said. It wasn't a question. "Don't expect me to feel sorry for you."

"No, I'm sure you'll enjoy watching every minute," Remus sighed under his breath.

***

In theory the Wolfsbane potion was supposed to make a werewolf completely harmless. In practice, nobody had ever been forced to spend the night, or even part of one, with a sedated werewolf. Snape, who had seen quite enough teeth and claws to last him several lifetimes, was not happy about the idea of being a primary test subject.

He insisted on shackles made of silver alloy -- not strong enough to harm the wolf (or perhaps just strong enough to leave a few mild burns? No...while Snape might be cruel, he wouldn't admit to sadism) but strong enough to hold it should it remember that humans were for eating and not there to throw sticks for it to fetch.

Remus privately thought that fetching a stick was probably the more embarrassing of the two options anyway.

At any rate, he borrow them from Kingsley, who knew where the Aurors kept that sort of thing, moved the bed to a wall where an ancient hook was bolted into the stone, and hung the chains there. When he snapped the shackles around his wrists they felt odd, as though they were slightly too cold, and made him uncomfortable. He realised he was not going to be able to curl up and sleep tonight. The silver wouldn't let him.

Then he picked up the third chain. He hooked the silver links carefully to the wall, and fastened the collar around his neck. It was made of alloy too. It made him twitch.

At least he didn't have to do this ridiculous display in front of Snape. Especially since he was naked. When one didn't have a job, one tended not to wear clothing that would just be ripped off during the transformation anyway; it was a waste of good trousers. He kept a blanket nearby, for when the transformation was complete, but there was no getting around the fact that Snape was going to be there when he let himself out of the shackles and collar.

He had barely enough time to make sure there was slack in the chain for him to lie down, before the sunset was fading behind dark blue clouds, and the moon came out. The other inhabitants of 12 Grimmauld Place were used to the single, pained, and prolonged howl from Lupin's room every twenty-eight days. They hardly even noticed anymore, except perhaps for a slight sensation of the hairs on the back of one's neck standing on end.

The world was different through the wolf's eyes, even when he was on the Wolfsbane. For one thing the potion made him sleepy, made him stupid, made him sluggish, as a wolf; it was hard to think, and there wasn't much desire for thought anyhow. 

He wasn't sure -- as he didn't clearly remember being the wolf unless he was on the Wolfsbane -- whether the world was reduced to elements because of that, or because this was the way wolves thought. Or if this was the way monsters thought.

Either way, the world came into sharp focus. It was all very simple. 

Food. Mate. Hunt. Sleep. This is my place, that is your place. A part of him even analysed the thoughts as they rose up in his mind, noting them for future reference when he was human again. The journals he'd kept since starting the Wolfsbane were full of statistics. Wolf hungry tonight, wanted food; wolf slept tonight. Never referred to it as I, or Me; it was always Wolf.

Chains. The chains were horrible things, but he couldn't undo them, not just because his paws weren't deft enough, but because if he did there was still a chance Severus would be hurt, when he came to observe the transformation back. He was very proud of following this line of reasoning to its logical conclusion while the dominant voice in his head said get these fucking chains off my fucking legs I'm going to fucking eat Snape when he comes through that fucking door.

He'd left Snape very specific instructions. When the sun was rising he would howl again, and Snape would know the transformation was coming. He was to have washed, so that the wolf could smell his scent over the scent of food and potions and all the rest of the things that clung to human beings after a day. He was supposed to keep his hands flat and palms out until the transformation was complete, and take notes by autoscribe. He should keep his voice quiet, try not to show his teeth, and if he brought a dog biscuit along or made any kind of flea jokes, Lupin was entitled to bite his fingers off.

He tried to curl up, but the shackles and collar made it difficult to get comfortable. 

It was going to be a long night.

***

Severus Snape had long ago laid to rest his nightmares about that night in the Shack when he was -- when they all were -- fifteen; unfortunately he'd seen many things much worse, which drowned out the vague, indistinct memory of a hackles-raised shadow, yellow eyes and overlarge teeth. 

Still, he wondered at the wisdom of going into a room with a werewolf, chained or not -- and did he even have any assurance that Lupin had put on the chains? Black or the Weasleys might assume that the man would, but Severus had known him at school and had seen him defy or ignore most of the Hogwarts rules, without even mentioning the rules of common decency. Lupin was just as unpredictable as Black; it was only that he was better at pretending to be a normal person. Ironically.

On the other hand, Snape would not let anyone believe him afraid, especially not Lupin, who to him now represented Black and Potter and even Pettigrew. 

He sat on the step outside Lupin's rooms, having risen at three after a restless night where he'd suffered the usual tormenting dreams of being late or lost which one often has when one must wake up exceedingly early. Inside, there was the noise of soft breathing, and the occasional rattle of the chains. A good sign. 

Lupin was right, of course. Most specialists would kill to be in his position, and some of them had probably made offers in the past. They'd probably even offered money. He wondered why Lupin had turned them down. Surely trust wasn't such an insurmountable object; a few hundred galleons could mean a lot to an unemployed man, more than ten minutes' worth of his dignity.

And he could almost hear Lupin's voice replying in his head: I'm a werewolf, not a whore.

The few records of transformations not written by werewolves themselves (and therefore suppressed by the Ministry as incendiary and untruthful products of a Dark Creature) were vague, and usually bloodspattered. It was a rare opportunity. Even werewolves didn't discuss it. The closest he'd ever heard was Remus and Molly talking it over, she trying as usual to horn into everything, he reassuring her that there was nothing she could do, that it was too personal, more personal even than sex.

He felt like a child sitting there on the cold stone steps, waiting. It was not a sensation he relished. 

There had been mentions recently, amongst colleagues of his, that some werewolves were building a tolerance to the potion; Remus had come to him and said that he was finding it more and more difficult to keep grip on sanity during full moons, especially towards the end of the night. The indicators of efficacy were usually shown in the transformations, and hopefully it would prove to be nothing more than a need for a slight increase in the dose, but Snape was nothing if not thorough. Lupin was right about that. It would have injured his pride to be anything less than certain.

Inside, chains rattled again, and something animal panted. 

And then there was the second howl -- complete with clear overtones of a summons. 

Snape stood, took a breath, and opened the door.

***

The transformation was always a blurred time for him, a haze of pain and blinded senses, and it usually left him too weak to move. This time was no different, made worse by the presence of silver so close. Though he could hear the low murmur of Snape's voice and feel that the wolf was thankfully not reacting to it, he knew there would have been nothing he could do if the wolf had. Good on Snape for requiring chains.

The scent was familiar, anyway, and even somehow comforting; the last time someone had been with him for the change it had been Sirius, and Sirius and Snape shared a certain acidity of scent, as well as the lingering cling of dusty-old-house. By the time he felt human skin shuddering over his bones again, however, he was too exhausted to care. He wanted to rip the shackles off his wrists and the collar away from around his neck.

But he could barely move, and his body, seeking warmth, had tried with limited success to burrow under the blankets. His feet and legs were covered, but the chains were tangled up in the blanket. He gasped as he tried to move, fingers too clumsy even to undo the simple latches at throat and wrists.

Snape's scent increased suddenly, a hundredfold, a thousandfold; he wished he could see, but literal blindness was a temporary side-effect of the Change. He felt heat, though, and rasped a querying noise through his throat.

"Be still," said Snape's voice, distinct now from the background, and fingers were touching his skin, releasing the shackles, undoing the screwed-in bolts, lifting them away by the chains. The chains caught on the collar, jerking it against his neck, and he whined inarticulately; there was a muttered curse, and then the horrible collar was removed as well. 

He had just enough energy to slide one hand up, rubbing the raw skin on his throat. If he blinked he could see, a little; a gleam nearby was his restraints, cast into a corner of the room, and the dark shadow must be Snape. There was a blur of red; a blanket? Yes -- covering his hips, preserving his dignity finally. 

"Do you require anything?" 

It took him a moment to understand the words, as his vision cleared, and he shook his head. It was cold in the dawn air of the old house, and the muscles along his shoulders shuddered; the blanket was thin, and didn't cover much of him anyway. It didn't occur to him to actually ask Severus Snape for assistance; he had been doing this alone for too long, and Sirius, when he'd come back, had always known what to do without being told. 

Something warm was cast around his shoulders, and he huddled into it. It had Snape's scent; his...robes?

He opened his eyes, and saw Snape, in his black trousers and shirt, rolling his sleeves up, hands deft and sure. He recalled a time at school when he'd be willing to give anything to have hands so skilled and steady. 

Or just to have those hands on him.

He moaned and tried to roll away, but then the hands were on him, steadying him as a second weight sunk onto the bed, and arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling his face down into black fabric, stilling the shudders in his body. 

"What..." he managed. 

"Body heat," came the reply. And, after a pause, almost so quiet he didn't hear it, "I'd no idea."

"Of?" he asked, wanting to climb inside the sudden warmth, as unwanted as it might be from Snape and certainly as unwillingly given, as Snape would no doubt point out to him later. 

"I didn't know it was that way," Snape replied. "The transformation. Had I..."

Remus waited, but the more comforting answer was the steady thud of Snape's heart, in contrast to his erratic, racing one. 

"Nothing to be done," Snape said finally. "Medically."

"No," Remus managed, as his breathing slowly evened to match the other man's. 

"I understand better now," Snape continued.

"What?"

"Why Black chose to treat you as he did. Why all of them did. Horrifying disease."

Remus lifted his head away from the warmth of Snape's shirt, and turned his face up, seeking the other man's expression. It was...not quite pitying, but not something he'd ever seen on the face of the cold, alienated Potions Master before. A peculiar sympathy lingered in his eyes. Severus inclined his head in agreement with the expression on Remus' face, which must have betrayed surprise more than gratitude. 

"I am not inhuman," Severus murmured.

"I am," Remus managed, with a shaky laugh. He saw the other man's lips tighten, slightly, and wanted to point out it was another joke, but he was too tired to form that many words. The warmth was slowly seeping into his bones, though, filling his skin, and it felt good, gave him enough energy to breathe deeply and think clearly.

"I can leave you to sleep, if you prefer," Severus offered. 

"Warm," Remus slurred, in denial. He realised that their faces were close, forced close by their positions and closer by the fact that he was watching Severus' face to gauge his reactions -- and that perhaps Severus' only way of understanding him was to watch his. 

He looked away, but there was no real "away" when they were this close, and the wolf was still partially in-control. The body-warmth washing over him was gathering in his hips and groin, suddenly, and he moaned with embarrassment, trying to drop his head -- 

Snape caught the movement and stopped it with his lips, head ducking slightly to press them to Remus', tilting his jaw back, preventing him from turning away. It was a light pressure, insistent; it caught him off-guard enough that he instinctively closed his eyes and opened his mouth to the soft, gently probing tongue that brushed his lips. 

The world spun dizzily, and he clutched for support, fingers clenching on Snape's arm -- probably painfully -- and immediately the warmth withdrew, his eyes flew open, and he saw pain and rejection flit across Snape's face -- 

"No," he tried, tongue-tied, and then realised it was the wrong thing to say. As the other man pulled further away he blurted desperately, "vertigo," and then, "please."

They froze in the moment, he in the act of clinging weakly to a loose sleeve, Snape withdrawing. 

He couldn't move. He physically could not gather the strength to follow the man who had slid across the bed, or to pull him back close again. He couldn't even speak in complete sentences, or think clearly enough to form the words he'd have needed. 

So he closed his eyes, and swallowed. 

"Please," he tried again. 

"Please what?" Snape asked in a hushed, almost frightened whisper.

"Stay?"

The fingers he'd watched roll those sleeves with such deftness touched his face, exploring the human distance from temple to corner-of-eye, from cheekbone to jaw. Then Snape was moving back against him, warmth enfolding him again, pressure of body-on-body momentarily distracting until their mouths met once more.

It was unfair of his body to react this way, to gather enough of his short supply of energy to support his libido but not his ability to keep his eyes open. Unfair that he could not have pulled Snape closer, but now that they were touching his hips rocked into the other man, weakly, and his breath came faster, even as he felt the pressure of Snape's erection against his own. 

He heard a moan and realised it wasn't his, caught it with his mouth and stopped it, but there were whispers against his lips and a hand on his waist, turning him so that he lay on his back and that heat was withdrawn for a bare moment. He couldn't do more than tilt his head and cry out softly as Snape straddled him, exploring with his lips, their bodies fitted closer now and settling into a rhythm of gentle movements that made pleasure dart along his skin, up over the sensitive places in the hollows of his collarbones to tingle under kisses that were all the better for being unasked-for... 

He moaned as Snape increased their rhythm, still fully clothed; to be writhing, naked except for a blanket across his hips, under a man who was doing exquisite things to his throat -- to feel that on the oversensitive skin where the silver collar had rested and irritated him, soothing away the chill burn of memory -- it was better than comfort, better than sympathy. 

He felt his body tense, felt the short burst of energy gather in him and force one convulsive, orgasmic arch against the firm warm body above, and the moan of pleasure in reply. There was a faint voice in his head reminding him how he must look, lips half-open and heavy from the kisses, hair ruffled, naked with a blanket slung over his hips, hands clenching on Snape's arms -- 

When he opened his eyes, he saw the other man staring down at him with a dark look of pleasure, lips parted a little. As he watched, that nimble tongue darted out and wet them, slowly.

"Yes," he said, before Snape could say anything. The other man shook his head. "Yes," he insisted.

Snape lowered himself slowly on top of him, rolling them both so that he could burrow once more into that wonderful heat. A hand cradled his head against his neck, and he went eagerly, nuzzling as close as he could. 

He fell asleep still whispering "Yes" against reluctant skin, a reassuring affirmation that chased its way through placid dreams...

***

...until he woke in mid-morning to find himself alone. 

There was a significantly heavier blanket covering him than there had been before, and a steaming breakfast laid on a nearby table; it smelled like potatoes and sausages and eggs, Molly's cooking. 

He pushed himself up slowly, muscles aching. He could probably manage to stand and walk long enough to get to the food, which smelled disgustingly appetising. He forced himself to focus on it, and not on the way his legs didn't want to function. 

A hand picked up the plate, deftly gathering knife and fork along with it, and Remus closed his eyes briefly in thanks. 

"You slept quietly. I thought it best to leave you to it," said a deep voice, and then another hand was pushing him upright, helping him to hold the plate, steadying it before releasing him. The silverware clattered to the blanket, and Remus carelessly began to eat with his hands, scooping the fried potatoes into his mouth, eating neatly, if without his usual excellent table manners.

There was a slight sigh, and he glanced up.

Snape was looking down at him, a vague expression of distaste on his face. Remus swallowed, and summoned the energy for a grin. He licked the grease and salt off one finger, delicately. The expression faded, and he watched Snape's adam's apple bob.

The other man sank to the bed, plucking the fork up and using it to slice a piece of fried egg. Remus obediently opened his mouth and accepted the morsel, closing his lips around the fork before it withdrew. His eyes followed it as Snape set it on the plate, and he managed to steady one hand enough to use it to eat with. Really, fingers would have been easier, but forks were for civilised human people, of which, he sometimes needed reminding, he was one. 

He ate slowly and in silence for a few minutes, now that the edge was off his hunger, the only noise the click of fork on plate. It was Snape, sitting on the edge near his crossed legs under the blanket, who spoke first.

"I observed an allergic reaction," he said finally. "You've been developing an allergy to one of the infusions."

"Oh?"

Snape's fingers lifted his left wrist, which was lying on his thigh, and turned it over, indicating a series of long red lines radiating down the arm. "Here. See this. It should fade given a few hours."

Remus stared down at the pale fingers, pressed just below his palm. 

"I think a substitution can be made," Snape said, somewhat breathlessly.

"Oh," he answered weakly. He glanced up and caught Snape watching him. His eyes looked almost hungry, for a second, before they cut away. 

He cut another small slice of egg and ate it, uncertainly. 

"Has it always been like that?" Snape asked.

"The Change?"

"Yes. I had not..." Snape paused. "...realised."

"It was worse," Remus said, stringing the words together with care, "before the Wolfsbane."

"Merlin."

Remus shrugged, eating the last of the potatoes. 

"You must think me quite the monster," Snape continued. "To take advantage of you in such a fashion."

Remus choked on his food, and swallowed hastily.

"I liked it," he blurted, tactlessly. Snape glanced at him swiftly, sharply. He wouldn't have wanted to be a student of this man, that was for sure; a look like that could get under your skin, see things you didn't mean anyone to see. A legilimens, Remus recalled. 

"I liked it," he repeated almost sulkily, looking down at his plate. "You...I..."

How did you express how it was to be half-and-half, to feel fully human desire because of a scent that was familiar to the wolf, to know that it was the person you wanted while still knowing it was the mate-instinct that made you want it? 

"Did...you...?" he asked, instead. "I...are, are you...men...?"

Snape nodded, looking away again. 

"Oh," Remus said, in a small voice. "That's...all right then."

"All right?" Snape snorted. Remus reached out with his left hand to turn the pale jaw back so that they faced each other; he let his other hand drift up to Snape's mouth, drawing his thumb across the lips that had made him moan and cry out earlier. They parted, and Snape's tongue licked away a little salt. 

"All right then," Remus repeated. Snape nodded slowly.

"I have work to do," he announced, pulling away. "No doubt Molly will prepare an equally disgusting lunch for you. I'll bring it up in a few hours. Do you require anything else?"

Remus gave him a slow smile that seemed to make the Potions Master blush to his toes.

"Not right now," he said evenly. Snape was at the door before he added, "Thank you."

He saw the other man pause, and his shoulders tighten slightly. His hand curled around the doorknob for a minute, and then he was gone.

Remus smiled, and licked the taste of Severus' mouth off his fingers, before finishing his breakfast.


	33. Wuthering Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus tries to teach Regulus the value of literature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Regulus)  
> Warnings: None.

"Fuck it, I'm not reading this stupid book."

Remus looked up from his own book -- _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , his break from _Dark Myths: A Re-examination Of The Psychotropic Supernatural_ \-- and sighed.

"You're the one who wanted to come stay with Sirius for the summer."

"Because I THOUGHT you lot would take me interesting places."

"We have a different definition of 'interesting', Regulus, you ought to know that by now. What is it Sirius told you to read?"

" _Wuthering Heights_. It's stupid."

Remus nodded. "I agree."

"Just because -- you what?"

" _Wuthering Heights_. It's idiotic. Read something else."

"I have to read this for fucking Muggle Studies."

"They have a class in fucking muggles now?"

"Funny, Lupin."

Remus leaned forward, so that he was nearly forehead to forehead with Regulus. "Close the book. We need to talk."

"About fucking muggles?"

Remus sighed. "Sirius wanted me to talk to you about the company you keep."

"Listen, Sirius can mind his own damn business. I'm sixteen, I should think I'm a decent judge of character."

"Regulus, he worries about you."

Regulus looked sullen. "He's my brother, that's his job."

"I worry about you."

There was a long pause.

"You do?" Regulus asked. 

"Yes."

"Why?"

Remus smiled. "You're a Black. I seem to fall for Blacks."

Regulus lifted his head and caught Remus with one hand on the back of his neck. They were kissing before Remus could properly draw breath, and when he finally managed it, Regulus took the opportunity to edge his tongue into the other man's mouth. Remus moaned, and _Wuthering Heights_ fell to the floor along with _The Count of Monte Cristo_. 

They never made it out of Uncle Alphard's small but cosy library, but that was all right; the leather couch was wide and there was a blanket, which was all they really needed. Regulus, sleepy after what Remus would admit was, bar Sirius, the most mindblowing sex of his life, rested a hand on his chest.

"Tell me what _The Count of Monte Cristo_ is about," he said. 

"Muscatel grapes," Remus answered sleepily. His fingers combed through the crisp black hair, shorter than Sirius'. 

_Sirius, pulling his hair back; Sirius with his lips on Remus' neck. "If you can't win him over with logic, he wants you," Sirius had said. "You could fuck him over to the side of good."_

Remus wondered. He had conquered Sirius; Regulus was not so easily won. 

Regulus might conquer him.

"Grapes?" Regulus asked. "That's fucking stupid."

Remus laughed a little as Regulus slid his hand down his abdomen, stroking and exploring.

"It's about love," he said into Regulus' mouth. "And betrayal. I'll tell you later."


	34. About My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius wasn't the only boy who showed up on James's doorstep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None

It was a howling night, no doubt about it. 

James was glad to be inside the snug little town-house in London, with its triple-glazed windows and weatherproofed door. On the one hand, sometimes he liked storms; really, all the time. But he pitied anyone caught out in this one. The rain drummed against the glass, and drenched his dad's rosegarden, flooding some of the empty pots. 

"Going to be an all-nighter, this one," his father said, coming to stand near him. He'd been staring out the glass door that led into the garden, and his father's voice startled him. "Jumpy, are we, James?"

"You snuck up on me," James said with a smile. His father ruffled his hair, and laughed.

"I'll be upstairs, if you need me. There's a copy of Magical Places And How To Get There with my name on it," his father said, and James heard him in the kitchen, pouring himself some tea before ascending the stairs.

He didn't blame dad. He'd rather like to be upstairs himself, right now. But the sight of the rain falling dismally on the garden was riveting, somehow. It was almost as if -- 

He jumped and nearly cried out at the sound of a pounding on the door. 

"JAMES!" his mother cried. "TELL THEM WE'RE NOT INTERESTED!"

"GIVE THEM SOME TEA, THERE'S A LAD!" his father added. James nodded. They always gave tea to passing Muggle salesmen, on evenings like this.

"All right, dad," he called, running to the door. Outside, through the window, he could see a blurred shape in brown. It didn't look like -- 

"For the sake of Gryffindor's freezing toes, let me in!" someone shouted, and James let out a whoop, throwing the door wide.

"Remus!" he beamed. The other boy stood, head covered in an enormous, ridiculous hat, soaking wet. 

"This decree against underage wizardry on hols is bloody annoying," Remus announced. "Here, I'm soaked through. Let a chap in and give him a chance to dry off, would you?"

"IS THAT SIRIUS?" James' mother called down.

"REMUS, MUM!" James shouted back. His mother appeared at the top of the stairs, smiling. 

"Hallo Remus, what on earth are you doing out in this weather?" she asked. 

"Getting drenched, Mrs. Potter," Remus replied respectfully. "I was in the neighbourhood -- well, I was over at the Magical Bakery Shop and got caught out in the rain. I was hoping I could shelter here till it lets up."

"Won't let up tonight," she sniffed. "You're welcome to the spare room, though. James, lend him some clothes. There's cocoa in the kitchen," she called, returning to the bedroom.

"He's taller than me," James complained, but led Remus, who was shedding a damp jacket and shirt, to the spare room just behind the stairs. 

"I've got cake," Remus announced, handing James one of three bakery boxes he was carrying. "I was picking something up for dad, and I thought I might as well get us some dessert. Guess I can donate it to the man letting me wear the shirt off his back," he added, with a grin. James laughed.

"Stay put, and keep the cake dry. I'll go get some clothes and a towel," he replied, dashing up the stairs to his bedroom. 

He'd hardly pulled a fresh t-shirt out of his bureau -- it would be loose on Remus, who wasn't quite as broad-shouldered, but that was fine -- when there was another knock on the door.

"Funny, Lupin!" he yelled down the stairs. "Very funny!" he added, as he descended. He was met with a blast of cold air.

"Oh, bugger," he said. 

Remus stood, barefoot, shirt off, at the half-open door. On the other side of it stood a completely drenched Sirius Black, with his hair hanging in his eyes and his trunk sitting on the walk behind him.

"Hello to you, too," Sirius said grimly. Remus cast an imploring look up at James, who noticed that Sirius' left cheek was bruised, and there was a gash on his bare forearm. He was, James was dimly aware, wearing clothing entirely inappropriate for this sort of weather. "Sorry not to call, but I hadn't any floo powder."

"You're soaked," Remus stammered.

"I didn't know you'd moved in," Sirius replied. 

"What're you doing here, Sirius?" James asked, passing the shirt to Remus, who held it limply while they both stared at Sirius.

"JAMES, CLOSE THE DOOR!" his father roared. 

"Cor, get in here," James said suddenly, and Remus darted forward to grab Sirius' trunk. Sirius stepped inside, hesitantly, while James hoisted the other end.

"I'll drip on your carpet," he said.

"Don't worry, Remus already has," James replied, struggling under the weight of the trunk. "What, have you got your whole life's possessions in here?"

Sirius turned a shade paler, if that were possible.

"Yeah," he said quietly. 

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his clothing dripping water onto the rug and the fall of his trunk hitting the floor. Then Remus sighed.

"Was it your mum or your dad?" he asked, taking Sirius' wrist and holding it up so that he could see the gash clearly.

"Dad," Sirius replied. "Never raised a hand to me before. Guess I said the wrong thing, eh?" he asked, his tone trying too hard to be light.

"What happened?" James asked.

"We had a fight," Sirius shrugged. "I told him..." he glanced at Remus. "I told him I thought he was...wrong. About people. About non-Wizards...and other folk."

Remus stared at him, hard. "He was talking about werewolves, hm?"

"Not just werewolves."

"And you, you stupid git, couldn't bite your tongue," James added. 

"I wasn't going to hear them say those things anymore," Sirius said defiantly. "Not about my classmates and friends."

"So they threw you out?" Remus asked, horrified.

"I left, didn't I? Not going to live under that...roof...another night," Sirius answered, slicking his hair back. Water ran down his neck.

"Good on you," said a voice from the top of the stairs. All three boys turned to see Mrs. Potter standing there, hands on her hips. "Good on you, Sirius," she repeated. "You'll stay here, of course."

"Course you will," James added. "You can't go back."

"I just wanted -- just for a night or two. I've a little money," Sirius said. "Just until I find a place -- "

"Nonsense. You'll stay here. We have a room to spare. You and Remus can share it tonight, and in the morning you can unpack," James' mum continued, reaching the bottom of the stairs as she finished. "Now. You two are frozen. We'll have tea," she said decidedly, as if that settled things.

Mrs. Potter was gifted with the same talent James possessed, of instantly making anyone feel at home. She filled the small kitchen with an absent sort of talk that both comforted the boys and did not require listening too carefully. By the time she'd kissed James on the forehead and said her good-nights, the three were clustered around the small kitchen table, heads together over tea and chocolate cake, talking as if they hadn't been apart for the four weeks of summer thus far.

Finally, James' father called down that it was past bedtime, even for growing boys of sixteen, and James rolled his eyes.

"You'd best get some sleep," he told them. "Or you'll both be ill in the morning."

Remus and Sirius nodded, taking their tea with them into the guest room as James bounded up the stairs, calling down a good-night. When they finally closed the door and turned on the lights, Sirius flopped onto the bed with a sigh of exhaustion. Rain pattered against the windows, and the wind howled under the eaves.

"What a day," he muttered. "What a bloody day. You want the bed? I'm going to have it for the rest of the summer, sounds like..."

"I'll be fine on the..." Remus glanced around. "Floor?"

"Nuts to that. Tell you what, you take the bed and I'll go doggy and sleep in the chair."

"You know Mrs. Potter hates it when Padfoot sleeps on the furniture."

"I do shed," Sirius said thoughtfully. "Listen, though, maybe you take the bed, I'll go sleep on the couch."

"This is ridiculous," Remus snapped. "It's a bloody big bed, why don't we just share it?"

He stopped at the look on Sirius' face, a strange mixture of hurt and confusion.

"Been a long day for me, too," he muttered. "Didn't mean to shout."

"It's logical," Sirius shrugged. "Trust you to think of the best solution, Moony."

Remus shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, aware that he was feeling irritable with Sirius, and not really sure why. 

"If you want some pyjamas, I brought mine," Sirius offered, apparently also aware of his friend's bad temper. "It's no good, sleeping in those clothes," he added, indicating James' t-shirt and the still slightly-damp khakis Remus had arrived in. He dug about in his trunk and tossed them to him, meanwhile pulling off his own shirt.

Remus turned the pyjamas over and over. They were maroon-coloured flannel, with little golden moons and stars on them. "What'll you wear?" he asked. 

"Oh, I don't, normally -- but if we're sharing -- " Sirius dug again, and came up with a pair of black pyjama bottoms. "These'll do."

"Wouldn't have to share a bed if you'd come to my place," Remus said quietly, apparently talking to the pyjamas. "I told you dad's got three spare rooms."

Sirius looked up at him sharply. "James was closer," he said.

"Of course."

"Remus, don't be like that. Moony, come on," Sirius said, as Remus turned away to let him change his clothes in privacy. "You know I'd have come to your place in a flash, but..."

"But I'm a werewolf," Remus said bitterly. A hand clamped on his shoulder and turned him around.

"Yes you are," Sirius said, soberly. The muscles in his chest were clenched with tension. "And I didn't want to get you in trouble, all right? If my mum and dad come looking for me, they can't lift a finger against the Potters. They find me on your dad's farm and your secrets get out, it's all over for you. I did put more than ten minutes' thought into this, you know."

"A new record," Remus said drily, but he smiled when he said it, and Sirius smiled back.

"I wanted to come out to the farm. Merlin he knows I wanted to. I like it there. But James...is safer. You understand?"

"I don't have to like it," Remus protested. 

"Spoken like a good friend," Sirius answered. Remus put a hand on the arm that was still gripping his shoulder, and Sirius dropped it instantly, cheeks flushing.

"I heard mum say...it was awful. Last year I didn't care so much, but now it's like...now that I'm an Animagus, now that I can change...everything's changing. Those stupid words. They get to me," he said, seeming to pull in on himself. It was Remus' turn to reach out, tilt his chin up until Sirius' eyes met his own. 

"They say such awful things," he whispered, eyes wide. "Impure. Mudblood. Half-breed. Undead. Blood-traitors. It's obscene."

"They're just words."

"Not in my father's mouth, they're not. They're like weapons. He throws them around," Sirius said, his eyes burning. "He says these things like they're pronouncements from on high, and he tells his friends, and they all fawn on him...and then he said something about werewolves and I just couldn't -- I took a swing and -- "

"Shh," Remus said. "Every time you talk, your bruise gets worse."

"I don't care. It was worth it."

"Did you win?"

Sirus shrugged. "Sort of."

"Because he said something foolish about werewolves?" Remus asked, with a small smile.

"Not just something. It was what he said," Sirius said, stepping closer. Remus felt the warmth of his body, inches away. "Filth just spewing out of his mouth. Mum standing there nodding her head like -- mmmh..."

What his mum was nodding her head like, Remus never found out. Sirius had swayed forward, and he'd leaned in eagerly to meet the dark-haired man halfway, stretching just a little to reach his lips. He could feel the anger coursing through Sirius, keeping his lean body taut, and willed it away. 

It's all right, Sirius, I'm here...

Sirius' hands slowly went to his waist, pushing James' shirt up out of its neat tucks. Remus felt his tongue slide into the other man's mouth as Sirius pulled his hips against him.

What the hell, Remus thought dizzily. His shirt's off, and we won't have to worry about shoes or socks...it's quite convenient really...

"Remus," Sirius mumbled, against his mouth. "This is...scandalous..."

"James Potter's spare room," Remus agreed, hooking his thumbs in the waist of Sirius' pyjama bottoms and pulling them down. "Just imagine what his parents would think."

"Don't want to think about James' parents right now," Sirius replied. He tasted like chocolate. 

"Then don't," Remus suggested, fingers straying down Sirius' chest, across his belly. "It's just you. And me." Sirius was still tense, the muscles of his shoulders taut, almost trembling. "We're here now."

"Here now..." Sirius echoed. "But what about -- "

"Shhh," Remus answered, effectively silencing him with his lips. His hands were busy exploring, and Sirius was gripping his wrists, as though to stop him, but he wasn't...not at all...

"Guess we're sharing the bed," he managed, between kisses. Remus laughed and let himself be pushed back against it, shoved roughly down. He heard Sirius growl, saw the muscles knot along his arms as he crawled over him.

"Do you want this?" Sirius asked, in ragged tones. 

"What do you think?" Remus answered, gripping his neck and pulling him down.

It was so good, this touching of Sirius Black's body, feeling the strength in his very tension. Better than any...well, not that there had been much, but better than Remus' limited experience allowed for. Sirius was not gentle. He was not kind. He was angry and rough and firm and heavy on top of him and it was so, so good. When he swore and moved his hips like that and gripped Remus so tightly he left bruises, but the anger flowed out of him and in the end...after the roaring in his ears had died away, Remus was the one who pulled him under the covers, held his body and whispered reassurances, wiped away the few tears that came of leaving any family, even such a one as Sirius Black had, entirely behind.

"You understand, don't you?" Sirius muttered, sleepily. 

"Understand what?" Remus asked, pressing his face into Sirius' neck.

"Why I had to leave."

"Your parents are horrible people."

"They've always been horrible," Sirius continued, in that half-dreamy voice. "But they were saying things, and I realised...they were talking about you...even if they didn't know it."

Remus felt a thrill run through him.

"And I wouldn't let them say that sort of thing about people I loved," Sirius finished. Remus stayed silent until he felt Sirius drift off to sleep. Then, with a small sigh, he curled his fingers around Sirius' shoulders, and prayed like hell that he'd wake up before James woke them both up, the next morning.


	35. All The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering after his year teaching at Hogwarts, Remus Lupin contemplates the past -- and waits for an old comrade to find him. Set the summer after PoA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None

He knows how little room there is in there  
For crude and futile animosities,  
And how much for the joy of being whole...  
\-- Edward Arlington Robinson  
In the picture, they stand very still.

They hardly move at all, hardly have for oh, more years than Remus cares to think about. In most of the pictures he has of his friends from school, they're roughhousing, or running in and out of the frame, or playing small tricks on each other -- usually Sirius is at the worst of it. 

Remus' hand drifts over the picture. It's not as though they're solemn; they're happy, really, smiling and looking quite pleased with themselves. There's Sirius, facing left, and Remus and James, facing right; Peter took the picture, you can see just a little of his thumb in one corner. But they turn their heads to look at him, across the years.

It was their graduation. They were so proud and tall, the three of them, off to have wonderful adventures in the real world outside the school. Sirius was going to work his way across Europe for a year or two before settling down to something-or-other. James was moving in with Lily. Remus was going to work for the Ministry, in the Magical Welfare department, helping find homes for children who were...well, like him. Peter was going to be a journalist for the Prophet. You could see them tasting their future, in the picture. 

Maybe that was why they never moved. Their future hadn't come about, had it?

He isn't sure why he brought the photo with him, when he left England after abandoning his teaching position at Hogwarts -- after Severus Snape's cruel "accidental" annoucement that Remus was a werewolf. Perhaps because he'd been to see James' son, and found him good; perhaps because he'd seen and spoken with Sirius, and found that to be good, too, though hard. Very hard. A decade of hatred for the man he thought killed James is not something that one lets go of easily.

Sometimes -- only three or four times in many, many years -- he has see Sirius slip his arm around his own waist, in the photograph, and James lean his head on his shoulder. It's never something any of them would have actually done in public, certainly not in front of Peter. And even Sirius' casual embrace, that was not a thing he would ever show to James. 

James had always been an affectionate one, was a great man for touching a shoulder, grasping a hand -- very macho, of course, James was a Man's Man and a Quidditch player and all the rest -- but there was no doubt that anyone seeing James rest his head on Remus' shoulder would think it quite natural. 

All boys experiment. It is a fact of life. Remus knows this to be true, had been relieved to discover it. James' affections, in his fifth year, were nothing but that. James broke his heart because he was testing the water, and found he didn't like it. James taught him about sex and then decided he liked girls. Lily Evans in particular. 

But broken hearts, when one is sixteen, are soon healed. That little incline of the head, to rest his jaw on Remus' shoulder, that's all that remains of James the heartbreaker. 

And oh, in seventh year, Sirius so afraid and so full of wonder at what Remus knew. Sirius, the bold, loud one, confiding in the dark that he felt things he didn't understand, speaking in soft whispers, their heads bent over a book in the library. What do I do, Remus? Should I tell? Do you think it's wrong? Everyone seems to.

No, Sirius. It was never wrong. No, no, no, it was never wrong, you were never wrong. How could you be? You were so innocent, when I touched you. And it was so long ago. And by the time we'd graduated, that arm around my waist was the most natural thing in the world. 

"Moony?"

Another whisper, and Remus, sitting at the desk in the hotel room -- he deserved this holiday, even if he couldn't really afford it -- glances up at the balcony. It's a ground-floor room, the balcony barely four feet above the lush garden outside the glass doors. He's had them open, so that the smell of the night air covers the scent of a carpet vacuumed too many times, a bed too many other people have slept in. 

His nostrils twitch. A shadow leaning on the rail. 

"Who's there?" he calls. 

The shadow flicks a slip of parchment across the room, and Remus catches it. A letter from Dumbledore, informing Sirius Black of the hotel address and room number of one Remus Lupin, who thought he was cleverly hiding himself away.

"He recommended this island," Remus said slowly. He can't see the face in the shadows, but he knows that Sirius is smiling.

"You looked so peaceful," Sirius says, still leaning on the balcony railing. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Will you come in?" Remus asks.

"Do you want me to?"

"More than anything," says the brown-haired man, and he stands and moves to the doorway, framed in the starlight. Sirius still looks weak, though he's cut his hair, and gained a few pounds. His hand shakes when he touches Remus' jaw. Remus takes it, guides Sirius inside. They stand, just inside the doorway, foreheads nearly touching. Just like in the picture. Only now there is no James or Peter, and they are looking at each other, not out at some unseen observer. 

"Years and years," Sirius says quietly. "How you must -- "

" -- love you," Remus answers, over top of the less affectionate word Sirius was going to say. "And I did nothing -- nothing at all to help you..."

"The more you beat me, I will fawn on you: use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me..." Sirius says. Remus laughs, though it sounds far more like a sob.

"When did you learn Shakespeare?" he asks.

"I stole it from your bookshelf ages ago," answers the thin man, so thin -- neither of them in very good condition, thinks Remus, but that hardly matters. Hardly matters at all. "It's difficult -- I didn't think -- you're hardly real anymore..."

"I am real," Remus wants to weep, but how can he? The boy he loved a decade past is standing in front of him, not a traitor, not a murderer -- what right does he have to cry?

Fingers rub his cheeks, wiping away his tears. 

"Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, unworthy as I am, to follow you," Sirius says, and then there are lips where his fingers were, arms encircling him, familiar and warm and just as solid as anything.

Rough patched cotton falls to the floor, and Remus' not-quite-as-ragged linen shirt, and there are fingers to twine in his and legs sliding along his thighs and oh, he taught Sirius how to do that... 

He smiles a little. On the other hand, Sirius invented that quite on his own. 

It is not the explosive, violent, aggressive mess that they had as boys. They are both weary men, both frightened for their own fragile sanity, neither one quite wanting to break. There are years and different lives in-between, but when were they not different? A prison of one's own choosing or a prison made by someone else, it doesn't matter too much. 

So they are slow, and careful, and touch more than they might, and make very little sound, and the night air smooths the places inbetween them -- and Remus, feeling Sirius' face pressed tightly into his shoulder, reaches calmly out, and turns the photograph frame so that it lies flat, so that the years between those boys and these men is nothing, nothing at all. So that when Sirius' body clenches against his, when Remus cries out once, there is no world outside, only this singular moment and a reunion too long in the coming.

And when it is done, and when they have lain together and whispered to each other, Remus drifts to sleep, still and somehow smaller than before. He has that habit, which endeared him to Sirius the first time he saw it-- when he sleeps one hand lies over his face, covering it like a child afraid of monsters, protecting him from the world. 

Sirius draws up the blanket, and places a kiss in the hollow of his throat, and rests his head against Remus', so that their faces do look out on the garden together. His arm stretches out and he lifts the photograph, stares into his own young eyes, rubs his thumb over the glass that presses them in place. He has changed so much, and Remus hardly at all, except for a few lines here and there. And James will never change again, but he won't think on that. He lets his arm drop across Remus, who sighs and mumbles something in his sleep.

"For you in my respect are all the world," he says softly, and Remus is not awake to wipe his own tears away. "Then how can it be said I am alone, when all the world is here to look on me?"


	36. Always Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just dinner, until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None

It wasn't exactly that Sirius didn't know how to cook. He was really pretty good at potions, and cooking wasn't that different. It was just that he would get distracted. Remus used to say it was a good thing he was extraordinarily smart, because he had the attention span of a brain-damaged puppy. 

It was just that if there were other things to do, Sirius would rather be doing them. 

So James and Remus were cooking, because Lily was coming over and the boys wanted to impress her with their independence and self-sufficiency. There was also the fact that Sirius didn't exactly adore Lily; he didn't dislike her, he just thought she spent entirely too much time distracting James from important things, like Quidditch games and weekend trips and that. 

Not that Sirius went out that much anymore either, Remus thought, as he chopped the potatoes. He had promised Lily real old-fashioned Muggle-style mashed potatoes; she said she could always tell when they were made magically. James was busy charming the Yorkshire puddings to stay warm, and Sirius was sitting at the dining-table at the other end of the kitchen, reading the Prophet.

No, he didn't get out much anymore. He was working full-time now, had to in order to pay the rent on their little shared flat. He'd got a job in one of the broomstick shops in Diagon Alley, which meant he spent most of his day hauling kids off of expensive brooms, catching wayward racers, and restraining badly-charmed sticks. It was keeping him fit, at least, but at the end of the day he was tired, hollow-eyed and lethargic. In a few months he'd be permanent, and they'd pay a bit more, so he could work a bit less, but in the meantime...

James swore, snapping Remus out of his contemplation.

"What is it?"

"I've buggered the pie," James replied. Remus lifted an eyebrow. "Look, it's burnt," he said, mournfully. 

"It's just a bit of crust. Cut it off."

"It'll look ragged!"

"She's not a food critic, James, she's your girlfriend. She won't care."

"And if she does, she doesn't have to eat it," Sirius added.

"Not helping," Remus muttered, to himself. He checked the water -- boiling -- and added the potatoes. James was beginning to arrange the lamb chops he'd picked up on his way back from the Ministry, in a large glass pan. James, of course, was also exhausted at the end of the day; Auror training wasn't easy. Remus wondered, privately, why he bothered; he had plenty of money, and didn't need the job. He paid most of the rent on the flat, which was why he got the big bedroom with the fireplace, while Remus and Sirius split the smaller. Poor Sirius didn't even have a proper bedframe; he slept on two scrounged twin mattresses, except when Remus was...ahem, "gone" for the full moon, when he slept in Remus' elderly bedstead, unless he and James and Peter were "gone" with him. 

"How long before your stupid Muggle potatoes are ready?" James asked, good-naturedly.

"Five, ten minutes. Just let them sit," Remus added, as James poked the chops with his wand. James scowled at him and added salt and pepper, then went to the 'fridge and got himself a glass of juice. Remus leaned on the counter, and watched the potatoes idly.

He was, surprisingly, usually fairly chipper at the end of the day. Being a research assistant at a Muggle university didn't require much energy; it was mostly searching through old library stacks for musty books, and Remus was good at it. Besides, books didn't ever wear silver jewelry, or ask him why he was gone for three days running, or stare at the scars on his arms and neck. He liked books. 

He was just about to ask James to pour him a glass, too, when the buzzer went, and James bounded for the door, glass still in his hand. Remus grinned, and watched as what he'd dubbed The Lily Phenomenon occurred.

When Lily Evans walked into a room, James changed. 

Well, perhaps the rest of the world changed, for James. It vanished, in fact. When Lily was around, James could get hit by a lorry and not notice. Remus and Sirius became inconsequential. 

This was probably one of the reasons Sirius wasn't best pals in the world with Lily, but Remus liked it. He thought it awfully romantic. You didn't see infantile, obsessive love like that anymore. 

At least he was a good conversationalist -- quite entertaining, when Lily was around. Remus wasn't sure if it was an act or not; he suspected that James simply didn't realise that he treated her differently from his friends. 

"Evening, Remus, Sirius," Lily said, allowing James to take her coat and lead her into the kitchen-diningroom-laboratory-animal hospital. Sirius gave her a nod, and went back to reading, flicking his wand absently to put the dishes in order and set the table. 

They made small talk while the potatoes cooked, and Remus drained and mashed them; when the puddings and the potatoes were on the table, James brought the glass dish to the centre, and stood back, striking a dramatic pose. 

"Ready?" he asked.

"Bloody cook them already," Sirius sighed. James waved his wand and cried "Incendius!"

The lamb-chops began to steam. Sirius fork-tested one.

"Perfect," he announced. He scooped one onto his plate, and one onto the plate Remus held out; James got his own and Lily's while Remus passed around the potatoes. There were a few moments of confused chatter while they sorted out the food and the wine that Lily had brought, and then Sirius settled in to eating with his usual singleminded intensity, while Remus very carefully made sure none of his food touched the rest, and Lily and James tried not to miss putting the food in their mouths while staring at each other. 

"Heard much from Peter, lately?" Lily asked, as Remus finished his lamb and started on his potatoes. He glanced at Sirius, and shrugged.

"Job has him traveling, apparently," he replied. "Hasn't even got a regular flat in London right now -- he stays on the couch when he's in town."

"Uses up all the hot water," Sirius grunted. Remus snorted. 

"For a little guy, he takes awfully long showers," James agreed absently. 

"Eats all the cheese, too," Remus added. Sirius choked on his water. Lily tried not to laugh out loud. Remus passed Sirius a napkin to sop up the snorted water with.

Conversation moved on to other topics; Sirius, done before any of them, offered to prepare the dessert, while Remus ate the last of his yorkshire puddings and James poured the last of the wine. One bottle of wine didn't go very far, between Remus, who had a metabolism like a hummingbird, and Sirius, who was just frankly an enormous person, and James, who could drink anyone but Remus under the table. Still, there was enough for a second glass for himself and Lily, who suggested they move into the small but cosy living room with their desserts. Sirius, obediently trailed by four floating plates covered in the butchered remains of James' berry pie, plus a carton of vanilla ice cream, led the way; James and Lily flopped on the couch, leaving Sirius and Remus to their usual places, Sirius on the one overstuffed chair, Remus crosslegged on the floor near the battered coffee table. And the usual conversation.

"D'you want the chair?"

"I like the floor."

"Yeah, but you always get the floor."

"Because I like it. Good for the back."

"That's a myth."

"It is not."

"Oh, my god, would you buy a second chair already?" Lily asked, with a moan. James laughed and put his arm around her. "A folding chair, a hammock, anything, for crying out loud. A packing crate. I'll buy you one."

"I like the floor," Remus said stubbornly. Sirius scooped some ice cream onto his pie.

"Why?" Sirius asked.

"Because I do."

"You are impossible," Lily said. "James, make them behave."

"Oh, that I could," James sighed dramatically. Remus began delicately scraping his ice cream off of his pie, and eating it. Sirius, who was already mostly done, challenged him to a game of chess, claiming it was impossible for him to eat and think at the same time, and Remus agreed -- it entertained James and Lily, watching the little chesspieces yell at each other and their leaders. Recently, the board Sirius owned had got a bit soap opera; the white queen was in love with one of the black pawns. It was quite tragic, really. 

Remus loved chess for more than the silly dramatics of the chess pieces; he liked to play with Sirius, who was just reckless enough to be unpredictable, and therefore dangerous to the methodical werewolf he played against. He liked to watch Sirius deciding who to move next, and see the way his brow furrowed when Remus took a piece, or sacrificed one. Sirius did not have a well-developed poker face, and his emotions were half of the fascination. Remus had played against other people, but none quite like Sirius, and he enjoyed it for the sheer quality of their interaction. 

It was, therefore, quite some time before he realised that James and Lily had stopped watching, and were whispering to each other over their wineglasses, Lily laughing and blushing, James looking mischevious as usual. For one moment, as he looked up, there was a mild pang of jealousy; he wanted someone to laugh at his jokes like that. 

"Check-mate," Sirius grunted. Remus turned back, stunned.

"Check mate?" he demanded. Sirius waved a hand at the board. 

"Good thing," he said. "I'm for bed."

"Us too, I think," James said, with a wink. Lily snickered. Sirius rolled his eyes. 

***

Two hours later, it was a bit of a different matter.

"What's got into you?" Remus asked, looking over his glasses at Sirius, who was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, and growling. He'd never growled before becoming an animagus. Remus sometimes worried that Sirius didn't quite divide the doggy bit from the human bit, sometimes. 

"Them," Sirius said, jerking a thumb at the wall that he shared with James. He sat up, slid off of his mattress, and stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "Listen, I've got to sleep tonight. Can't they cast a silencing charm?"

"Have you asked them?"

"It's not the sort of thing you burst in on!" Sirius retorted. This was true. It was an honour code among the boys. You did not Disturb someone while they were Entertaining. Sirius grabbed his mattress and dragged it to the other side of the room, near Remus', and flopped down on it. Remus adjusted the pillow he'd placed against the headboard, and went back to his note-taking; he'd already shirked quite enough...

"Turn out your lamp," Sirius said, into his pillow.

"I've got to finish this tonight. It's only ten more pages."

"Remus, turn your bloody lamp off before I beat you about the head with it."

"Sirius, it's ten pages. Go get yourself some cocoa and calm down, you wouldn't sleep right now at any rate."

Sirius fumbled a hand out from under his blankets and groped for his wand, stuck in his shoes. Remus reacted just a second ahead of time, ducking away from the lamp as Sirius swung the wand, and the lightbulb exploded.

"Right, that is bloody it -- " he dove across the bed, notes scattering everywhere, and tumbled down onto Sirius' mattresses. Sirius squirmed, trying to get free, while Remus tried to pin him down. For a moment everything was flailing limbs and bedcovers, and then Remus got a grip on his collar and pushed him against the mattress, sitting on his thighs to keep him from kicking.

"That was a brand new lamp, so if you've broken it, Black, I'm taking it out of your hide," Remus snarled. Sirius kicked, unexpectedly, and Remus found himself sailing through the air towards the floor, rolling and diving back towards the bed in one smooth, graceful movement. At least werewolf reflexes were good for something.

"Geroff me!"

"That was my lamp!"

"I've got work tomorrow!"

"I've got work tonight!"

"Children," drawled a deep voice. Remus, leg half-pinned under Sirius, propped himself up onto his elbow, and stared over Sirius' shoulder.

James was standing in the doorway, in his dressing gown. Lily, just behind him, was wrapped in a sheet.

"If you're going to kill each other, can you keep it down? Cast a silencing charm or something," he said, hair sticking up in tufts. 

There was a moment of silence, during which Remus coiled for the leap that was coming -- 

"I'll kill him. I will END HIM," Sirius said, as the door to James' room closed behind him. Remus held him back by his pyjamas.

"You can't kill him, we can't afford this place on our own," he reasoned. 

"I don't care, it'll be worth it -- "

Remus let out a low, sudden growl, the sort of noise that even coming from a human throat triggers something in the hindbrain. Sirius instantly stopped struggling.

"Don't do that," he said, rolling away and standing. "Makes me bloody want to roll over and beg."

"Then stop pissing me off," Remus replied, climbing up onto his own bed and sitting on the edge. 

"Well, you wouldn't turn the lamp out."

"I told you -- "

"Oh, will you bloody stop being so reasonable."

Remus flopped back on the bed. Sirius sat on his mattress, back resting against Remus' bedspread, head leaning on his knee.

"I'm so damned tired of it, that's all," Sirius grunted. "Why can't we bring girls home and have nice dinners and that?"

"We don't have girls."

"We could have girls."

"I don't like girls."

Sirius glanced up at him. "What, all girls?"

"I don't like people, really," Remus said thoughtfully, staring at the ceiling. 

"All girls?" Sirius repeated.

Remus rolled his eyes and sighed. Sirius crawled up onto the bed next to him, also staring at the ceiling.

"Nothing up there, you know," he said, looking over at Remus. 

"Nothing up here, either," Remus replied, tapping Sirius' temple. Sirius grinned.

"All girls, Remus?"

"Yeah," Remus said quietly. "All girls."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But...then what's that leave you with?"

Remus sat up, crossing his legs on the bed like he did whenever he sat on the floor. "Boys. Well, men, really."

Sirius stared at him for a while. "You never said."

"It never came up."

Sirius snorted. And leered a little.

"Funny, Black," Remus sighed.

"So any...particular...men?" Sirius asked, tossing himself off the bed and walking to his bedside table. He grimaced as he retrieved his water glass. "They're back at it," he said, jerking his head in the direction of James' room.

"Nobody in particular," Remus said quietly. Sirius kicked his mattress out of the way and stood in front of him, sipping from the glass. "Don't really care. I like my job, got you and James about..."

"Eyecandy?"

Remus looked up at him, and Sirius stopped drinking. He lowered the cup, slowly, and set it down on Remus' desk with a clank.

"D'you fancy me, Moony?" he asked. 

Remus flushed crimson, but didn't say anything. 

"Because that wouldn't be half bad, you know," Sirius continued, thoughtfully.

Remus stood so fast his head spun, rising up into the kiss even as Sirius stepped closer. He nearly fell; Sirius' arm caught him under the elbow and his hand slid around to his back. It wasn't even a thought process. It wasn't even a shock. It was just a sudden, tight kiss that stole his entire awareness and seemed to catch away his breath.

Sirius' right hand was gripping his arm so tightly it hurt, but he wasn't paying much attention to that; bewilderment and lust in equal parts were filling his mind like warm sand, washing away rationality. 

Sirius let out a heartfelt little moan, and pulled back just slightly, forehead still touching Remus'. 

"You like girls, Sirius?" Remus asked softly. Sirius nuzzled his cheek.

"I like you, Moony," he answered. Remus felt Sirius' lips trace the line of his jaw, hover over his pulse. 

His arm tightened. Remus was pulled forward, hips pressed to Sirius', and it was quite clear what his little admission had done to Sirius...just as clear, through the thin cotton pyjamas, as what Sirius' kiss had done to him....

Reeling under the sensation of Sirius nosing his shirt collar open gently, Remus leaned his head back, saw the same spot on the ceiling he'd stared at, minutes before...Sirius was making pleased noises in his throat, inhaling deeply, his breath tickling Remus' skin. 

Oh, I could spend my life this way...

Sirius, however, could not. He half-tumbled, half-lowered Remus onto the mattress, sliding his shirt open, kneeling over him, bending down -- he really was such a presence, Remus thought distractedly, tall and broadly built, smooth-muscled, a solid, balanced weight.

On his hips...

Sirius bent to kiss him again, arms on either side of his shoulders, hair falling down onto his forehead. He kissed him, and grinned a little, and chuckled. Remus stared up at him, praying this wasn't what he thought, that it wasn't suddenly a joke -- 

But then Sirius was whispering words in Latin, and Remus laughed too -- a silencing spell. Sirius rested his head against Remus' cheek, and laughed, and laughed -- 

And then gasped as Remus hooked his thumbs in his pyjama bottoms...

Remus knew what he was doing, and Sirius was not a slow learner. But still there were...questions, and not just aloud, but with eyes and touches and caresses. Is that...? Do you like...? Should I...?

So many places to touch, and then Remus was moving him gently, whispering other spells, spells Sirius didn't know but could fathom the results of, and Remus was telling him not to be afraid, he wouldn't hurt him...Remus was doing things to his body that he had never thought to allow anyone to do, ever...

And then Remus, arms wrapped around Sirius' chest, face buried between his shoulderblades, nearly snarled as he felt Sirius lose control; he was not done yet and Sirius was his and oh -- god -- 

The room spun. Remus felt himself inhale and then he couldn't even breathe as his climax washed over him...

When he felt he could reasonably be coherent again, he relaxed what he realised was a bit of a death grip on the other man's ribcage, and fell back a little. Sirius groaned.

"Ye gods," he muttered. "I didn't know it was like...that..."

"What did you expect?" Remus asked, amused. 

"Not that," Sirius answered truthfully. "I don't think I've...I mean, really. How did you do that?"

"I've read books."

Sirius burst out laughing. 

"Of course you have!" he blurted, one of his hands snaking up to cover Remus'. 

"It wasn't...I mean, surprising, all right, but...I reckon you don't spend most of your time fancying boys, do you?" Remus asked. Sirius, laughter fading off, breathed deeply, hand still caressing one of Remus' thumbs.

"Not most of my time, anyhow," Sirius said, after a while. "I mean...girls are fine and that. And it's not like I ever gave you or James the hairy eyeball."

"Till tonight."

Sirius nodded. "All right. But you know, I didn't know it was going to be like that. Cos if I did, I'd have started earlier, I tell you that."

Remus snickered. "Think you can sleep, now?"

"I think we ought to get rid of the silencing charm and wake James and Lily up."

"You would."

"It'd only serve them right."

They lay in silence for a moment, until Sirius drew another deep breath.

"Is it always like this for you?" he asked. "All tight in the chest and scared and idiotically cheerful?"

Remus smiled, and kissed the back of Sirius' neck. "It is now," he said quietly.


	37. Anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius takes Remus for a ride on his new flying motorbike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None

"Where'd you get it?"

"Must be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"It is that. It's the best thing ever."

Sirius Black stood proudly, sheet clutched in his hands, hair pushed up out of his eyes. He'd hoped that the others would be impressed, but he hadn't even dreamed they would be this impressed.

Five or six Gryffindor seventh-years crowded around the motorbike. "It's Muggle, in't it?" Peter asked. James shot him an amused look. 

"Course it's Muggle. What kind of wizard would invent something like this?" he asked. Frank Weasley and his brother Arthur -- who was in Hogsmeade on a visit -- were running their hands over the dials, fascinated. James and Peter stood back in order to get the full effect. Remus reached out to touch the seat, thin deft fingers stroking it reverently.

"What're you gonna do with it?" Frank asked, in a hushed voice. Lily was looking admiringly at the vehicle, but without the awe the others had -- she was Muggle-born, and had undoubtedly seen these wonderful machines before.

"Already done," Sirius said proudly, wrapping the sheet up. "Want to see?"

There was a chorus of "yes!" "Do show us!" "What's it do, Sirius?" from the group. Sirius put his finger to his chin, pretending.

"Arthur, you take second seat," he announced, tossing a helmet and a pair of goggles to the wide-eyed redhead. Arthur climbed on, carefully, and Sirius tossed a leg over in front of him, winking at James and Remus as he did so. He started it up, let out the clutch, stomped on the accelerator, and the roaring beast coughed exhaust and rose into the air. Arthur let out an enormous whoop as they soared out of the low garage and into the sky.

Sirius circled Hogsmeade a few times, finally returning to the little building he'd rented on the edge of town, when it became evident by the put-putting that the bike was running out of fuel. 

"Got to keep it filled up with petrol. Something to do with Muggle magic," he said, climbing off. Arthur was breathless with excitement.

"I want one!" he announced. "It's brilliant! It's like a broomstick with pedals and gears and dials! How'd you get it, Sirius?"

"Bought it off a bloke. Did the enchantment myself," Sirius said proudly. 

"Brilliant, Sirius," James said, touching the handlebars. "Can I borrow it?"

"If you help me with our Care of Magical Creatures NEWT, how's that?" Sirius said. 

"I'm no good at Care of Magical Creatures, what if I get Remus to help you?"

"Then I'll take Remus for a ride," Sirius announced. "Maybe I'll take Remus for a ride anyhow," he added, pouring petrol into the tank, from a container in the corner. Remus flushed with pleasure at the thought. "Now we'd better get back before we're missed, and I want to pick up some butterbeer from the pub before we have to go up to Hogwarts again."

***

"Sirius! Wake up!"

Sirius rolled over and batted away whoever it was. He was having an awfully nice dream about playing Quidditch with Remus and Frank Weasley, and someone was trying to wake him up. 

Dream-Remus tossed him the quaffle, and said "Come on, Sirius, don't muck about."

Sirius sighed, and opened his eyes. Luck's on my side, he thought. Remus Lupin was still there.

"Finally," Remus said. "I can't sleep."

"And you decided that I shouldn't, either?" Sirius asked.

"More or less."

"And so you're on my bed because...?" Sirius said, half-hopefully. Remus grinned.

"Let's go down to Hogsmeade and take the motorbike out. We can scandalise the Muggles in the next town over," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Are you absolutely mad?"

"I told you, I can't sleep. I want to have some fun," Remus said. "Don't forget who found that Mechanium Leviosa spell."

Sirius pushed himself up on his elbows, dislodging Remus from the bed. The smaller boy grinned as Sirius pulled a coat on over his pajama top, and some shoes on his feet. Remus, he saw, was also still in his pajamas, but he'd thrown his school robe over them.

"Couldn't sleep, or didn't want to?" he asked grumpily, as they made their way down the silent midnight corridors. 

"Both," Remus said happily, hands in his pockets. "You did say you'd give me a ride. Can I steer?"

"I didn't mean at oh-gods-ayemme in the morning," Sirius grumbled. 

It didn't take them long to reach the garage; it was on the Hogwarts side of Hogsmeade, and Sirius had his own key to the place. He pulled the sheet off of the motorbike and Remus was on it instantly, beaming and making ridiculous vrooming noises.

"How do I work it?" he asked. Sirius lifted his hands off the handlebars and placed one of his own on Remus' chest, gently pushing him back before thumping a helmet onto his head.

"You don't. I do," he answered, swinging onto the bike and quietly lifting the kickstand. Remus' arms wrapped around his chest, and he felt the other boy's chin on his shoulder.

"Let's fly," Remus said, in a thrilled whisper. Sirius carefully raised them a few feet off the ground. Behind him, he felt Remus twitching with excitement. He maneuvered them carefully out through the rolldoor, and was rewarded with a blast of fresh, cool air that blew his hair back.

"Brilliant," Remus murmured, tightening his grip. Sirius shifted gears, and they were off, skimming the treetrops as they flew over Hogsmeade. "Really great, Sirius."

"Yeah, it is, in't it?" Sirius asked, into the wind. They banked left, and he felt Remus lower his arms until they were clutching his waist. "Where to, navigator?"

"Anywhere," Remus breathed. "Anywhere at all."

Sirius took them left until they were over the lake, and could look down at the shadow of the giant squid in the moonlight. Not the best of views, but he could tell by Remus' intake of breath that it was good enough for his friend. Then they were out over the forest, following the tracks of the Hogwarts Express line. 

Just as they circled low to skim the grass, Sirius felt one of Remus' hands clutch his thigh.

"All right back there?" he asked. 

"All right," Remus replied. The wheels were barely a foot above the ground as they sped along, Sirius glorying in the quick, able maneuvering of the motorbike. 

At first he thought it was just engine vibrations. The man he'd bought it from had warned him that it had a tendency to shake a little in the upper gears. Then he realised no...that wasn't vibration at all.

That was Remus' hand, leaving his thigh and moving somewhere quite different...well, yes, as handholds went it was pretty convenient, but he didn't think that a need for a new place to grip was what Remus had in mind.

"Erm..." he said, over his shoulder. Remus looked up at him, brown eyes bright.

"Yeah?" he asked. His hand moved, and Sirius nearly lost control of the bike. 

"Nothing," he muttered, turning to pay attention to the field in front of him, the rails running along to his right. Remus chuckled against his shoulder.

"Faster," the other boy whispered. "Faster, Sirius."

Sirius, mostly to take his mind off of the fact that Remus' hand had not ceased to move, shifted into third gear. They were laying a clean swath of grass behind them now, and at this rate they'd be out in the wildlands beyond the school's property in no time. 

Finally, he couldn't help it; he closed his eyes, just for a second, and moaned, and cut the motor. The bike slowed, then stopped, and dropped to the ground with a mild thud. He threw the kickstand down, and heard Remus' helmet tumble to the dirt.

Remus' fingers drifted upwards, sliding under his pajama top. 

"Remus," he managed. "Much as I enjoy a good motorbike ride..."

"Mmm?" Remus asked. 

"Remus, I don't know that -- oh," Sirius said suddenly. Remus had pressed his hips a little closer. "Did the...motorbike...it does vibrate a bit..."

Remus gave a laugh that was, in Sirius' opinion, entirely too confident. "Sure," he said. "It was the motorbike."

"And...er..." Sirius managed, catching hold of Remus' hand and twining his fingers with the other boy's, "what do you say to a bit of a...stretch break?"

"I like that idea," Remus replied. 

Somehow, he toppled off of the bike seat; Remus' slim, wiry arm caught him, held him as he stumbled away from it. This wasn't the shy, smart Remus he was used to, who was easing him to the grassy ground and pushing the coat off his shoulders, and incidentally the pajama top with it. This wasn't bookish, earnest Remus who was lying on top of him, arms crossed on his chest, looking mischievously down at him.

"Want a frog?" Remus asked suddenly. Sirius blinked. He could quite clearly feel a certain amount of sexual tension in the air -- and in their pajama bottoms, for that matter. And what was Remus saying about frogs?

Remus had taken one of the delicate gold cardpaper boxes out of his pajama pocket, and was opening it. He grinned and took out a chocolate frog, holding it above Sirius' mouth.

"Say please," he said, in a gentle voice. Sirius put his hands on Remus' hips.

"Please, Remus," he growled. Remus placed it in his mouth, letting his fingers linger on Sirius' lips.

"Did you like it?" he asked. Sirius swallowed.

"Yes...I did..." he said haltingly.

"I love the smell of fresh grass," Remus continued, burying his face in Sirius' chest. "Reminds me of good things...Quidditch and the train to Hogwarts...and you..."

Sirius, moaning, rolled until he'd pinned Remus underneath him. "What do you want from me, Moony?" he asked. Remus grinned innocently up at him.

"If you don't know that by now," he said, "you are much more dense than you're given credit for."

It seemed to Sirius that it lasted, at once, hours and hours, and at the same time, barely minutes. They struggled out of their clothing, not caring that they were in a wide open field -- after all, nothing could come for them here that they couldn't protect each other from. And Remus' hips under his, and Remus crying out oh please Sirius...and the smell of grass and the taste of chocolate and the feeling of the motorbike's speed still coursing through them...

Later, James would ask how on earth they'd gotten grass stains on their pajamas, and Peter would wonder how Remus could pilot the motorbike so naturally, as if he'd had practice, but Remus would just drop a wink at Sirius, and ask him if he felt like a chocolate frog. Full moon nights were for the four friends, roaming together...but the other nights, flying low over the villages and forests and fields...those were for Remus and Sirius, always fast and faster -- bound for anywhere.


	38. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breakfasts are a way of keeping the peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None.

It wasn't that Sirius and Lily didn't like each other.

Well, it was, but Remus would overlook that.

Sirius and Lily put up with each other. Because of James. And lately because, Remus suspected, Lily was growing on Sirius. Lily was fully willing, after having forgiven James for being a git, to believe that Sirius could also be forgiven.

It was just that Sirius couldn't quite forgive her for, after scorning his best friend for four years, stealing him away. The breakfasts were helping though, Remus decided, and felt a small twinge of pride that they'd been his idea. He had suggested to Lily -- who'd never had to forgive Remus for anything much, and so had befriended him quite easily -- that having Sirius over early in the morning, when he was sleepy and therefore vulnerable to suggestion, might work in their favour.

Lily had said she made extremely good eggs. Remus, who knew this, was very pleased when she included him in the morningtime invitation.

It was true, Sirius was willing to admit, that her eggs were better than most. And Lily would grudgingly concede that Sirius made a mean oatmeal, when Sirius had returned James and Lily's invitation and invited the pair of them over to the small but comfortable flat his uncle had left him. And they'd gone on very cordially, until Sirius actually made a joke that Lily had laughed at, and James and Remus had exchanged grins across the table with Peter, who was nominally in on the secret by dint of being excessively nervous whenever Sirius and Lily bickered.

And now it was habit.

Remus handed Peter the paper as he and Sirius staggered in out of the early-morning rain, freezing and damp from the motorbike.

"I don't care about your pride," Lily said, by way of greeting, "You're letting me buy you a proper waterproof coat, Remus. I'm tired of hanging your clothing over our radiator."

"He won't let me," Sirius rumbled.

"Things'll be fine," Remus said. "I've got a job coming through."

Peter raised an eyebrow at him over the paper.

"I have," Remus protested. "A proper job."

"Good," Lily replied, as a whisk began to beat the eggs in a bowl in the kitchen. "Omelettes this morning. All right with you?"

"No onions in mine," Remus said. "And -- "

" -- no meat for Peter," Sirius and Peter chorused.

"And you can stop dripping on the carpet," Lily added, handing Sirius a tea towel. He looked at it, then at her, then back down at the tiny towel clutched in his large, callused hand.

"I'll get some proper towels," Remus said, ducking down the hallway. 

James and Lily weren't poor, but they'd spent only frugally on their house; the shower curtain they'd purchased was the cheap, clear kind, and Remus opening the door had sent modesty-preserving steam eddying away from it. It wasn't even that he hadn't seen James naked before. He'd lived with him for seven years, after all.

His hand was halfway to the stack of towels on a rack above the toilet before he realised, however, that he'd never quite seen James like that.

He felt his cheeks flush crimson, saw James look up, and hurriedly snatched the entire stack of towels, slamming the door behind him.

"Bugger," he muttered.

"Remus, I'm dripping!" Sirius called, and Remus shook himself, damp hair falling in his eyes. He bolted back into the living room and passed Sirius a towel through the kitchen door.

"How wet ARE you?" Lily asked in amusement, eying the large pile of bath towels in Remus' hand.

"I ah...just grabbed...James was in the shower -- " 

"Oh, of course. Sorry, should have warned you. Still, nothing you lads haven't seen before," Lily said lightly. Remus fought down a hysterical laugh.

"Lily..." Remus said, wrapping one of the towels around his head and hiding his furious blush under pretence of drying his hair, "You and James getting on all right?"

"Yes..." Lily said, sliding the omelette materials into a pan.

"I mean..." Remus gave up on delicate phrasing. "Never mind," he sighed. Lily, attending the hissing pan, gave him a bright smile. Sirius dawdled into the living room and flopped down on the couch next to Peter, towel still around his neck.

"Something wrong, Remus?" Peter asked. 

"No, why?"

"You've been toweling your head for nearly three minutes."

Remus removed the towel from his hair, slowly, and folded it with careful precision. He ran a hand through his hair, though that was probably useless by now.

"James was in the shower," he said.

"Yes, you mentioned," Sirius drawled.

"James really likes that shower," Remus continued.

"Well, I like a -- oh." Sirius' jaw snapped shut. Peter glanced up from the paper.

"Nice shower, is it?" he asked. Remus gave him a significant look. 

"He thinks so," he said. 

Peter smiled, and went back to his paper. Sirius, over Peter's head, made a wide-eyed, amused face. Remus pressed the towel to his own face, muffling his laughter.

The door clicked open, then, and they heard James pad down the hall to the bedroom. Remus, after a moment taken to compose himself, wandered back into the kitchen to see if Lily needed anything; Sirius, who didn't bother to hide his amusement, stole the sports page from Peter.

"Was that you nicking our towels?" James called, walking out of the bedroom in a pair of loose trousers and an unbuttoned shirt. He began to fasten it, standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Sorry," Remus said, in a strangled voice.

"No problem," James replied easily. Apparently he had greater faith in steam's modesty-preserving powers than was actually the case.

"Enjoy your shower?" Sirius asked.

"Course," James replied, pleasantly. "Breakfast up, love? Anything I can do?"

"Not much," Lily replied with a smile. "Plates?"

"I'm on it." James brushed past Remus to get to the cupboard, and Remus darted away. Sirius broke down.

"What's he laughing at?" James asked, confused, as Sirius' snorts of laughter filled the room. Remus covered his face.

"Nothing," Sirius gasped.

"Glad you had a good shower," Remus added.

James took down the plates and kissed Lily as he passed. "Don't mind them. They're quite utterly mad," he said. 

***

"You should have told him," Sirius said, as he pulled on his gloves. The rain had stopped, and Remus, damp jacket over one arm, waited patiently while Sirius completed his Motorbike Ritual. Jacket strapped tight, gloves done up securely, helmet on head, tyres checked, engine examined. And that was just the short program. The Extended Motorbike Ritual could go on for an hour or more.

"What would I have said? Sorry I caught you wanking in the shower?" Remus asked.

"That'd've been brilliant," Sirius replied, bending to inspect the front tyre. 

"Mind of an eight year old," Remus sighed. "You don't tell a man you saw him naked and thinking of his girlfriend while his girlfriend is in the room making omelettes."

"Good point. She'd've ruined the omelettes entirely," Sirius replied, working his way along the bike. "And anyway, you don't know it's Lily he was thinking about," he finished, standing up. "Ready to ride?"

Remus pulled his damp jacket on and zipped it up, accepting the second helmet from Sirius.

"This is not the most comfortable way to travel, you know," he added, sliding into the seat behind Sirius. The other man said something by way of reply, but it was drowned out by the roar of the ignition.

Once they were airborne, Sirius cut the Muggle engine and let them coast through the sky, back towards his London flat. Remus, who roomed with an odious elderly Muggle couple he was sure went through his things while he was out, generally stopped at Sirius' on weekend afternoons after The Breakfast, to catch a Quidditch game on Wizard Broadcast or pick up one of the double-dates Sirius continually felt the need to arrange.

"Could use a wash myself," Sirius said, and Remus snickered. "And not that kind, twit," he added affectionately. "I hate smelling like stale rain."

"Well, it's your flat," Remus replied. "You'll miss the first bit of the Harpies game, though."

"That's all right," Sirius said, as they circled in to land. He switched the Muggle engine back on, landed perfectly as usual, and rolled the motorbike into the garage.

Inside, Remus hung his coat on another radiator (it was thick, but took forever to dry) and slumped into the couch, while Sirius made his way into the back bedroom. "Turn on the broadcast," he called, and Remus obliged, lighting a small fire in the fireplace and tossing a handful of blue powder into it.

"Harpies at noon," he said, and immediately the sounds of the Quidditch announcer could be heard, booming through the small apartment. He sat back on the couch, head resting on one of the arms, and stared at the ceiling as the announcer began the pre-game team listing.

His mind, however, wandered.

He knew James was an athlete, the man had played Quidditch for years, and wrestled in the dorms, and worked odd jobs over holidays. It was just that he hadn't, when he thought about it, actually seen James undressed in nearly four years. So that was a shock. He identified that one and moved on.

James had obviously been enjoying his shower, he thought, with a renewed snort of laughter. And that was a shock. Categorise, and move on.

James had looked magnificent, and Remus had felt a second of stunned reaction before embarrassment overwhelmed. All right. A bit of a bad shock, but move on, because the worst was yet to come...

The water turned on in Sirius' washroom. Remus put a hand over his eyes, because the first thing he'd done afterwards, on seeing Sirius, was flash to James in the shower and wonder...

Sirius was broader in the shoulder than James, more solidly built. The same black hair. Darker eye colour. Probably more visible muscles, Sirius worked harder than James and had a regular job that required more strength. Oh lord, where was he going with this. Categorise and move on? Not precisely.

He wondered, idly, just how difficult it would be. Not to be seen. After all, James had barely noticed. If he was quiet...

His hand was on the doorknob before he even realised he'd stood up. 

Just a look at what Sirius must look like now. That was all. It wasn't as though he thought Sirius was -- 

Sirius was.

He stared, temple pressed against the doorjamb, door open barely six inches. Sirius' shower curtain was, if anything, cheaper than James', which had at least been slightly opaque. The muscles along his arms knotted and slid under his skin as he moved. Dark hair curled in his eyes. And there were the broad shoulders, the solid build, the muscles and Sirius' hand moving slowly, his head thrown back slightly.

Remus, pulse pounding, closed the door. His hands nearly shook. 

There was a soft noise from inside -- nearly muffled by the water, and Remus hurried back to the living room. He threw himself down on the couch and frantically grabbed for a book on Sirius' lamp table as the water turned off, and the door clicked open. He managed to actually get the book right side up before Sirius emerged from his bedroom.

Thank god it was a big book. The man wasn't wearing a shirt, what was he playing at? And his trousers hadn't even a belt, and -- 

"Good shower?" Remus managed. Sirius snickered.

"Never going to think of that phrase the same way," he said, walking to the fireplace. He picked up the poker, and tamped down on the burning paper and kindling sticks, putting it out. Abruptly, the room was silent.

"I thought we were going to hear the game," Remus said, softly.

"It's interesting, in this flat. Bit drafty," Sirius said, almost absently. "When you open the bathroom door -- "

" -- just looking for some....paper for the fire -- "

" -- a breeze blows through," Sirius said. 

"Paper," Remus repeated stupidly.

"In the bathroom?" Sirius asked.

"Toilet paper."

Sirius reached down and took one of Remus' wrists, pulling him up off the couch. "Is that what you were looking for?" he asked softly.

"I'm not some sort of -- "

"Did you want to see? I'd have shown you if you'd asked," Sirius continued, in that same soft, persuasive voice.

"Shown me what?" Remus said. His head spun.

Sirius chuckled. "You didn't want to see James," he said. "Did you?"

"No..."

"But you actually got up...and came to the door...and you didn't even think I would be..."

Remus had run out of excuses and questions entirely. Sirius blinked, once, slowly. Remus held his breath.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit spent just at the moment," he said, briskly, suddenly. "But I'm sure we can work things out..."

Remus didn't even move when the other man's lips touched his.

"After all," Sirius said, sliding his tongue between unresisting teeth, exploring Remus' mouth. "After all, it's been an exciting morning for you..."

Remus let a small, throaty noise of pleasure escape, and Sirius laughed again. "Forget James," he advised, nipping at the skin on Remus' angular jaw. He worked his way down his adam's apple, nuzzling his shirt collar open.

"I never thought about James," Remus managed.

"Oh?" Sirius asked. One of his hands had slid around Remus' waist and untucked his shirt, warm and firm on his skin. "Thought about me, did you?" he asked.

"I don't...I can't...." Remus stuttered. Sirius lifted his head, and tightened his grip until their bodies were touching.

"Don't be confused. Don't be sorry. Don't be guilty," he murmured.

"But I -- "

"Just let me do this," Sirius said firmly. Remus let his head tip back, giving in, because what else was there to do? 

Sirius' hands undressed him, touched him, explored the ridges of his ribcage, the smooth skin on his shoulders. And lower, over his waist, thinner than James, Remus knew painfully thin, but Sirius didn't seem to care as he fumbled with his belt buckle, tugged on the threadbare fabric...

Remus didn't even know Sirius knew how to do that with his mouth.

But he wasn't about to stop him.

He jerked, just a little, every time Sirius' tongue moved; this was not in the plan for this afternoon, but he thought about how quickly Sirius had made that final little noise after he'd looked in, and realised that -- 

And then rational thought went away, as he moaned and twined his fingers in Sirius' hair and Sirius released him, grinning wickedly, licking his lips, licking them for god's sake, and Remus' knees would no longer support him.

"Easy," Sirius whispered, gripping his waist and lowering him down. Remus, incoherent, nuzzled Sirius' bare shoulder, rested his own against the side of the couch.

"That was interesting," Remus managed. Sirius threw back his head and laughed.

"Well, it wasn't how I'd planned this to happen," he said slowly. "On the other hand..."

"You were planning this?" Remus asked.

"No," Sirius said. "And don't stop," he added, as Remus lifted his head. The brown-haired man obediently returned to the gentle pressure of his forehead on Sirius' shoulder.

"But you said..."

Sirius stroked his hair. "Planning it in my head, perhaps. Planning it in the shower, for that matter," he added. Remus snickered. "But I didn't think you..."

Remus waited patiently.

"Well. I didn't think you enjoyed showers the way I did," Sirius concluded.

"That's an awful metaphor."

"Wait until I get you into one," Sirius whispered. Remus felt a light shiver run through him. "And just think...we have James and his own deviant fantasy life to blame..."


	39. Figuring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus needs help understanding the mechanics of certain things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None.

"I need to talk to you." 

James looked up from his book, and his seat by the fire, and flinched.

Remus Lupin had a baleful stare, when he wanted something. Combined with a flush on his cheeks (probably from the warmth of the common room) and wild hair still damp after the gang's afternoon out in the rain, he was a fierce sight. 

"I hope that's all you need," he said, marking the book and closing it, folding his hands in his lap. "You could brush your hair, you know."

Remus ran a hand through his tufty, almost furry brown hair. "And not here," he added. 

James realised Remus wasn't irritable; he was nervous. He shrugged, and stood, following the other boy through the Portrait-hole, and out into the damp corridor. They walked barefoot, and didn't make much noise; Remus shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting until they were a relatively good distance from the common room before he spoke.

"Sirius," he said succinctly. 

"I'm aware of his existence," James replied, in a dry tone.

"You're not making this easier on me."

"It would help if I knew more than 'Sirius'," said James. Remus stopped, and leaned against a wall, facing him.

"Sirius kissed me," he said. James raised an eyebrow.

"He does that, to boys, sometimes," he said. "I thought you knew."

Remus shook his head, hair falling into his eyes, and he brushed it out again carelessly. 

"Then he's been more circumspect than I gave him credit for," James continued. "Did you kiss him back?"

"What, are we third years?"

"Well, you brought it up."

Remus crossed his arms, and sighed. "I did."

"Good show, Sirius! We had a bet on about you, you know, back in fifth year. Wonder if I can still get him to pay up."

"Not funny, James."

"Here, if you're getting action with the Pads, how come you're so cranky?"

Remus covered his face in his hands, and sighed.

"James, Sirius told me things. I'm having a bit of trouble believing about the mechanics of everything, but that's not here nor there...he told me you and he..."

James shifted, uncomfortably now, and blushed. "Well yes. But that was ages ago, Remus, and it was just a bit of a lark, you know."

Remus nodded, behind his hands. "As usual, one step behind the pair of you."

"Well, better one step behind us than one step ahead of anyone else," James replied smugly. Remus nodded again, allowing that this was probably true. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

"No. I mean..." Remus sighed, and dropped his hands. "This is terrifically embarrassing, suddenly. I mean do you really....and with your...and then....sex is a lot less complicated with women, you know."

"Not really. Well. Maybe some parts." James grinned, suddenly. "Ah, you haven't done more than kissing, have you? Least you've got someone who knows what he's doing, think what we had to go through. Lots of...figuring out bits."

"James!"

"S'true."

"Well, I've never done any figuring out and Sirius seems to have it all figured out and I'm just a bit nervous that between his figuring and my figuring there's a lot I don't know," Remus said, in one breath, voice nearly cracking. "And he says he wants to do things and of course I want to do things, but honestly. I mean, there's some things I really think he's having me on about."

"And you want the advice of someone who's...been there?" James asked, grin widening. Remus, distracted from his wretched monologue, gave him a small smile.

"If you want to put it like that," he said shyly. James nodded, and tapped one finger on his chin, imitating Professor Binns down to the facial expression.

"Don't ever do that again when we're talking about this," Remus said, with a mock shudder. James broke his pose, and laughed.

"I tell you what, I'm not going to give you any gory details in the hallways of Hogwarts," James said. "We'll go to the Three Broomsticks this week-end, you can buy me a butterbeer while Sirius and Peter are in the sweet shop. Because I am definitely going to need a drink."

Remus nodded, and gave him another fleeting smile. "Ta, James. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, well, Sirius has roaming hands. A boy ought to know what to do about it," James replied, laughing.

***

"So," James said, as he settled in over his butterbeer. Remus, across from him, looked anxious still. "What exactly has Sirius told you?"

"About you, or -- "

"Well, not that I wouldn't like to know, but no." James held up a hand. "About, in order of importance, boys kissing boys, boys touching boys, boys doing things to other boys, and...boys doing other boys."

Remus choked on his drink, and coughed. James hit him on the back. 

"Is that even possible?" he asked. 

"It takes skill," James replied thoughtfully. "First thing's first."

"Oh well. We've kissed and that," Remus said, waving a hand, still trying to fully clear his throat. "And, and...listen, should we have some kind of code for this?"

"I think that would be," James said cautiously, "an incredibly bad idea."

"All right then. The first two pretty much I've got covered, it's not all that different from...um..."

"Right," James said hurriedly. He took another deep drink. "And the third?"

"Well...when I was seeing that Ravenclaw in sixth year, she told me right up front she wasn't ever going to...you know. So I...I know it can be done. I just don't know how."

"I really hope we're thinking about the same thing here," James sighed. "That's nothing, you make Sirius do that first, he's good at it."

Remus looked horrified. "Make him? I don't want to even mention it to him! Not that he hasn't brought it up, but really, James, what do I say?"

James grinned. He let his tongue slide out and around the edge of the butterbeer bottle. Remus' eyes widened. The black-haired boy lifted it and took a sip, lips slipping down over the neck just enough -- 

When he put the bottle down, Remus was flushed, and looking away.

"If you want it," James said slowly, "You have to ask for it."

"Just out with it?" Remus asked, his voice low and a little hoarse. My god, James thought, the boy must be trembling for it if that little trick can put him into a state like this. 

He hoped Sirius hadn't been toying with Remus. That was unfair and cruel. 

"Or there's that," James said, and had the pleasure of seeing the blush deepen. "Now, as to number four..."

"Sirius said some sort of...unbelievable things," Remus muttered. 

"Like?"

"Arses and that."

"Oh that. Yeah. Lucky for you Sirius likes to...er...be the arse, as it were."

Remus laughed, and James realised what he'd said. 

"It's just like with girls, only you have to sort of...get things ready ahead of time," he said. "And it's easier if you're not...facing each other."

They were, James thought, going to win the all-time record for uncomfortable pauses.

"It's true though?"

"Aye. Did you think Sirius would lie to you?"

Remus shrugged. "I thought he might have been playing games."

James reached across the table and tipped his chin up a little, looking in his eyes.

"What did you do when Sirius kissed you?" he asked.

"Kissed him back, course," Remus answered. "After about two seconds of intense confusion."

"Never fancied lads before?"

Remus pulled back and looked away. "Not like I fancy Sirius," he said quietly. "Do...do you ever?"

"Nah. Sirius was pure desperation. Oh, and I on his part, I'm sure," James added. "We were just mucking about because we didn't have girls to try it with."

Remus nodded musingly. "Could you erm...show me that thing with your lips again?"

James lifted an eyebrow. The other boy looked pleading. "Just so I can see how you did it," he insisted. James grinned.

"Wotcha, lads!"

Sirius appeared so suddenly that Remus started, and James set his bottle down with a thud. 

"Didn't order for me?" Sirius demanded. "Ah well. Peter, get us a butterbeer?"

Peter, at the counter, nodded and said something to the barkeep. 

"Up to anything?" Sirius asked, and both Remus and James blushed a little; Remus thought he heard something odd in Sirius' voice. 

"Just talking," James answered. "Figuring out some things," he added, with a grin in Remus' direction. Sirius gave them a suspicious look, but just then Peter arrived with their drinks. They moved on to other topics, Sirius extolling the virtues of the new Honeyduke's dark chocolate, until evening was falling and they were expected back soon. 

"And if all else fails," James said in Remus' ear, as they left, "You could try getting drunk."

"That might be helpful," Remus muttered back, before Sirius slung an arm around his neck to match the one around Peter's. 

***

Sirius was extremely good at getting rid of people in the dormitories. It was a knack. With the added influence of James, who was willing to babysit Peter for an evening in order to give Remus time to put new theoretical lessons to practical use, it was hardly any time at all before Sirius -- shirtless and lying on his bed -- and Remus -- trouserless, in boxers, and lying on his, reading -- were alone. 

"I have a question for you," Sirius said, into the silence that Remus knew was fast becoming awkward.

"Oh?" he asked, not looking up.

"Are you screwing about with me?"

Remus frowned, and closed his book, turning to glance at his friend. "What?"

"Because if so I'd just as soon you not bother," Sirius continued, in a tone that Remus knew was his calm-but-furious voice. 

"What on earth makes you think that?"

"You and James," Sirius said sullenly. "I saw you today. Chatting before we got there. And James being all slick, like he is."

Remus grinned. "If you're going to be jealous of the people I spend time with, you're going to be angry at James and Peter an awful lot, you know."

"You weren't just talking," Sirius accused.

"No, we were actually making mad passionate love. We can do it telepathically, you know," Remus said, disgusted. 

"What were you talking about?"

"That's really not your business, Sirius."

"Did you not see him molesting his butterbeer bottle? No, I know you did, because I saw the way you looked when he did it."

Remus paused. "You were spying on us?"

"He was giving you a sex show in front of the world! It'd be hard not to!"

"A sex show, Sirius, he was drinking his drink!"

"With sex!"

"You've gone utterly mad," Remus replied. 

"Have I? Do you deny that there's anything going on between you and James?"

"Of course I do! Bloody hell, I can barely handle you, what do you think I am, the Casanova of Gryffindor Tower?"

Sirius threw himself off his bed, and crossed his arms. "What were you talking about that made him want to give his butterbeer an orgasm in front of you and the rest of the bar?"

"You, if you must know!" Remus blurted. Sirius stared. "We were talking about you, all right? And me. And things. Sex things. Okay?"

"Why...?"

"Because I don't know anything about it." Remus flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands. "So I asked James to give me some advice because god knows I can't ever tell when you're pulling my leg. And as it turns out you're not, which is still rather hard to believe, but there's no point in any of it now because you're obviously off your rocker and even if I wanted you to -- to do things to me -- you wouldn't."

It startled Sirius, he could tell; there was a quick intake of breath, and the sound of him moving towards the bed.

"You were asking James for...advice?" he asked. Remus nodded, mournfully. "Because you didn't want to ask me?"

"Because I couldn't ask you, Sirius, because you are y -- " Remus stopped halfway through the word, because Sirius' hand had dropped to his stomach, and was touching it gently. 

"I wouldn't lie to you, not about this," Sirius insisted. 

"You don't know what it's like, suddenly having to deal with...with you after years of thinking girls were the only option," Remus said. He still hadn't opened his eyes, but he could feel Sirius' fingers tugging on the waistband of his boxers, and he lifted a little, encouraging. There was a low noise from Sirius as he slid them off. 

"I can show you," Sirius said. Bedsprings creaked. Remus felt a warm kiss on his navel. "All you had to do was tell me."

"But I can't tell you. I'm scared."

"Of me?"

"Of doing it wrong."

Sirius laughed, a deep vibration against his skin. 

"You won't do it wrong," he assured him, and Remus arched his hips as the warmth of Sirius' face pulled away. Only for a second, though, because Oh. 

Sirius.

Oh, Sirius.

He opened his eyes and moaned as Sirius' mouth slid over his cock, a thousand times better than anything he'd ever felt before. Even Sirius' hands, the rough rub of Sirius against him, was nothing like this, gods above he was in Sirius' mouth, and he wasn't even coherent enough to be taking notes on how....

His hands instinctively tangled in Sirius' hair, pulling him closer, and for a second he was worried but then Sirius followed, moaning around him -- must remember to try that -- and gripping his hips, holding him down. He struggled against it, because it felt so good even to struggle. And then Sirius moaned again and the words went out of his head and he forgot everything except Sirius -- 

His back arched and tensed as he came, crying out between gritted teeth, Sirius still moving around him, clutching his hips. Short, unbearable bursts of pleasure wracked his body, and when he finally collapsed back on the blanket, he realised Sirius had...

Oh, there was so much wonderful to learn about Sirius. 

The dark-haired boy crawled up his body, kissing his ribs, his chest, his collarbone, sliding lips along his jaw and tongue into his mouth. Remus realised, with a start and a pleasant shiver, that he was tasting himself in Sirius' mouth.

"Congratulations," Sirius said. "Enjoy it?"

"Mmm," Remus answered, aware that Sirius' body was covering his, that their hips were rubbing slowly together, that Sirius obviously did enjoy doing...that...

"Not scared anymore?" Sirius asked, shifting, shifting. Remus smiled and slid one hand down his back, under his trousers and around his hip, shoving him gently over. His fingers found Sirius' erection and the other boy moaned into his neck. 

"More, please Remus..." he asked, and Remus smiled and stroked tighter, fingers and palm rubbing across the sensitive skin, setting a rhythm faster than Sirius' thrusting hips, faster than his short sharp breaths. He felt Sirius' pulse quicken -- was this how he had sounded? Moans and incoherent pleading and so hot and ready...

Sirius tensed, a wild cry torn from his throat, and then he was silent again, in Remus' arms, breathing deeply against the sensitive skin of his neck.

"I don't think you need to worry about doing anything wrong, Moony," he said, after a while. "I think I forgot my own name."

Remus smiled, and stroked his hair. "It's Sirius."


	40. What You Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exams are a stressful time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None

Arithmancy notes were imprinted on his weary eyelids by the time Remus Lupin fell asleep, the night before their NEWTs exams began.

James and Sirius, of course, had barely studied. They never needed to. Sirius had a photographic memory, and James was just plain brilliant. Remus and Peter, on the other hand, not only had to study their eyeballs off, but -- as they were friends of James and Sirius, and therefore considered Brilliant as well -- had to deal with all sorts of questions from other seventh-year students who were going just as insane as they were over the exam.

Remus finally gave up on his own lessons, since Peter really couldn't study AND tutor -- and Peter was far behind even himself, to say nothing of catching up with James and Sirius. So Remus sent Peter off to hide in the library with his books, and spent the evening before NEWTs in a huddle of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, bent over their books after dinner in the Great Hall. By the time he left -- hounded almost all the way to the Pink Lady by a couple of Ravenclaw girls -- he had perhaps an hour of good study time before he had to turn in, in order to get enough sleep to function.

Not that he'd sleep much. Not with his stomach roiling and his head aching from anticipation. He hadn't been able to eat much dinner. Remus did not test well. Once he'd done something right he could do it again flawlessly, and could teach it just as well, but Writing Things Down in a way that made sense...

So he'd gotten into his pyjamas and climbed into bed and cracked open his Arithmancy book, since that was harder than all his other subjects combined, and he had to get really good NEWTs if anyone was going to take him on after school. 

Not that anyone would anyway, but he'd ignore that for now.

"Oi, Remus, have a look at this," James' voice drifted over from his bed, across the room.

"Can't, James, I've got to study," he replied, without looking up. 

"Come on, it'll only be a minute," Sirius coaxed.

"What is it?" he asked, still without moving his eyes from the text in front of him. 

"Just come and see."

"I don't have time to come and see," Remus snarled. "So unless it's a new improved copy of my Arithmancy book, I'm not interested."

Merciful silence from across the room. He turned a page and began making new notes in the margins. They wouldn't help him much in terms of re-reading if the exam was tomorrow, but sometimes just the act of making a note helped him remember. And it was soothing, filling all those empty white spaces with thoughts. 

He studied in peace and something approaching an almost Zen resignation to the fact that he was going to fail, for nearly the whole hour. Finally, a shadow loomed across his counterpane, and something thumped onto his lap -- a bar of Honeyduke's chocolate. He glanced up, to find a contrite-looking Sirius standing there. 

"Want some help?" Sirius asked apologetically. Remus shrugged. "You could...um....tell me facts, or something."

Remus sighed, closing the book and laying it on his nightstand. He opened the chocolate, offering the first piece to Sirius, who took it, sitting crosslegged across from him.

"I think I'm going to fail," he said, nibbling on his own piece. 

"You're not."

"Yeah, I think I am. I haven't crammed properly at all. I haven't got my notes in order -- I was busy helping Peter, and then those bloody Ravenclaws fell on us like a pack of wild dogs..."

Sirius grinned. "You'll do fine."

"I'm not joking here." Remus tried to enjoy it, but the chocolate was like sawdust in his mouth, and finally he set it down on the wrapper, sighing. "Maybe I ought to skive off altogether."

Sirius' eyes widened. "You don't mean that."

"I do. I'd rather not take them, than have to put bad scores on my applications."

"But -- but they're NEWTs," Sirius said, a note of mild hysteria in his voice. "Everything we do in our careers depends on them!"

"Well, it's not like I can go into the Ministry, they do blood tests to make sure you're human, and most other jobs frown on monthly sick leave," Remus sighed. "Why not just chuck it all. It'd be very dramatic, you know. You and James and Peter'd get all kinds of attention out of it. I could vanish under mysterious circumstances. How does one go about vanishing?"

"Remus, stop it."

Remus mutely held out the chocolate he'd been nibbling on, and Sirius absentmindedly ate it.

"What sort of future is there anyway?" Remus asked softly. 

"Who cares?"

"Easy for you to say."

"No, I mean -- who cares about the future? All you have to worry about is being on time tomorrow. Then you just do what you do." Sirius shrugged. "Show up, at least."

"Why?"

Sirius' brow furrowed. This was a good question.

"Cos I'll give you something if you do," he said finally.

"I'm seventeen, Sirius, not four," Remus replied. Over his shoulder he saw Peter exhaustedly climbing into bed, James dousing the candle next to his. "Bribery only works if you're a little more subtle than that."

"Come on," Sirius said, breaking off another chunk of the chocolate and offering it to him. He waved it away, and Sirius shrugged, popping it into his mouth. "Anything you like."

Remus glanced up, meeting his eyes. "The problem is, the one thing I really want, you can't give me, Sirius."

A change crossed the other boy's face. He leaned forward. 

"What's that?" he asked softly.

Remus smelled Sirius' unique scent, body and soap and whatever it was he put in his hair that made it curl so charmingly. He'd been encountering it on more or less a regular basis for years, but it still made his heart pound faster and he was sure that it made blood rush to his face.

"I really want to pass," he sighed, controlling himself.

Sirius looked disappointed about something. His hands toyed with the Honeydukes' wrapper, wrapping the foil around and around the last piece.

"Can't pass if you don't show up," he mumbled. 

"But think how fun it would be to help," Remus said with a smile. "You and James could sneak me out to the train, and we'll get my trunk onto the luggage car and I'll hide behind it, and you can tell everyone I got Annie Morgan pregnant and that's why I did a runner."

"Is she pregnant?" Sirius asked.

"No, but she used to throw spitwads at me and I've been plotting revenge for years," Remus answered. Sirius chuckled. 

"But then you wouldn't have to come to the test AND you'd get what you want. Nope. Won't help," Sirius said firmly, unwrapping the last pieces of chocolate. "Come on. What's the one thing you most want in the whole world? If Galleons can buy it, I'm your man."

Remus gave those curious blue eyes a tired smile. You, of course, he wanted to say. But Sirius was seeing some girl in Slytherin right now. Sirius was always seeing some girl. Sirius hadn't time to be lusted after by his gawky, awkward, slightly-more-dim best friend.

Sirius appeared to be holding his breath in suspense. 

"A yellow humbug," he said.

Sirius blinked.

"A what?" he asked, voice high and confused.

"A yellow humbug. I want a yellow humbug," Remus replied.

"What on earth is a yellow humbug?"

Remus leaned back, staring up at the bed's drapery above him. Sirius rested his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands as he chewed the last of the chocolate.

"It's a Muggle thing," he said. "I haven't had one in ages, not since I started Hogwarts -- we used to get them from the shop in town but after I started Hogwarts I never bought sweets anywhere but Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. I don't know why I thought of them, but I've been wanting one for weeks."

"What do they look like? Do they make you hum?"

Remus smiled. "No. They're yellow, and sort of diamond-shaped, and hard, only the centre's got caramel in it. Doesn't matter, though, they're hard to find so it's not like I'd really expect one. A Peppermint Toad would be fine."

"So you'll take the exams?"

Remus sighed. "Yes, I'll take the exams. But I won't enjoy it."

Sirius smiled, slow and broad, and Remus never could resist smiling back.

***

NEWTs lasted three days. Peter had two nervous breakdowns, but fortunately Peter had a nervous breakdown on the average of once every two weeks anyway, so the Marauders knew how to handle them. James and Sirius barely broke a sweat. 

Remus spent the time in a haze of confused competency; he never knew if he was right or not, but at least he answered the questions and did the tasks. At night he dropped into bed, studied until he fell asleep, woke the next morning on Sirius or James' command, and repeated everything over again. 

The tests ended in the afternoon of the third day, and Headmaster Dumbledore arranged a sort of End Of Exams party for the students, but Remus knew it would mostly be eating and drinking and discussing how they think they did. He saw James and Sirius vanish into the classroom it was being held in, Peter trailing behind, and managed to creep past it without drawing any attention. He found his way up the staircase, empty at this time of day -- the younger students were in class, their end-of-term exams weren't until next week -- through the old Gryffindor portrait hole, and into their dormitory room.

Not their room for much longer. They'd be leaving soon. The thought made his stomach clench, and he put it out of his head. He was tired and unhappy, sore, sure he'd failed, nauseated, and sick of the world. 

He was also cold, he realised, and his head hurt.

He pulled off his shoes and socks, shed his robe, tie, and shirt, took off his belt, and drew back the covers on his bed. He lay down, curled up, pulled the blankets over him, and stared for a while at the table nearby, under the window, with the water-jug and goblets on it. Funny how you never noticed the shape of things until you really looked at them. 

He drowsed that way until he heard a thumping on the stairs, and he slowly pulled the covers over his head. He didn't have the energy to move, let alone talk to anyone right now.

"Remus?" Sirius' voice called from the stairwell. "You up there?"

A pause. Footsteps on the stairs again. The door closed, and he heard a soft sigh, and the sounds of shoes being taken off. Quieter footsteps across the floor, and paper rustling, before the footsteps returned. His bed creaked and shifted as Sirius sat on it.

"Don't you even feel a little happy you did it?" Sirius asked. "I know you're under there, I can see your hair."

Remus sighed and flipped the blankets back. Sirius grinned at him over his shoulder.

"I just want to sleep," he said tiredly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Until results are out and my parents have stopped shouting."

Sirius turned, so that he faced him. He had a white paper bag in one hand.

"But then you'd miss this," he said, and upended the bag on the blankets. A cascade of gold streamed out, forming a small, asymmetrical heap in Remus' lap. 

Remus stared down in surprise.

"You said you wanted yellow humbugs," Sirius grinned.

"But -- I only told you three days ago -- " he stammered, picking one up carefully. They were smaller than he remembered, but then he'd been a good deal smaller last time he'd had one. 

"Braved a Muggle sweet shop for you, I did. Paid in Muggle money and everything."

"How?"

"Asked around and found a place. Snuck out and caught the Knight Bus last night, took it back the same way. Barely two hours gone. Go on then, eat one," Sirius said, a trifle impatiently. Remus was still admiring the hard, gold little diamond on his palm. "Here."

Sirius picked it up and held it out. Remus opened his mouth instinctively, before he knew what he was doing, and Sirius placed it on his tongue, brushing his lips with his fingers as he did so.

Remus closed his eyes. It tasted better than he remembered, and not just because it was Sirius feeding it to him. 

He rolled it around on his tongue for a minute or two, gesturing for Sirius to try one as well. It was peppermint flavoured, and the edges were sharp in places. He waited until he could feel where the flat surfaces were wearing down, and then crunched. The peppermint shattered, and he chewed the caramel happily.

"It's good," Sirius allowed. "I don't see what's so great about it, though."

Remus finished chewing, then picked up another one. "It's not just a thing you eat. It's partly memory. I associate them with things. Home. My parents. Something I was given when I'd done a job well. And now, with you."

Sirius smiled. "I like that."

"Me too," Remus replied, scooping the rest of them up into the white bag, enjoying the way the little gold sweets tumbled through his fingers. He reached across Sirius to put the bag on his nightstand, just as Sirius turned, and found himself facing his friend, one arm across his body, their chests nearly touching. He flushed red, and started to lean away -- 

Sirius caught his arm, keeping him there. 

"Was that what you wanted?" he asked. "More than anything?"

Remus, transfixed, nodded slowly.

"Because you liked them," Sirius asked, licking his lips, "or because you liked me bringing them to you?"

"Because...I..." Remus stammered, flustered. 

"Why did you stay and take the exam?" Sirius continued inexorably.

"Because you asked me to," Remus whispered. 

"What do you really want more than anything?" 

Their lips were almost touching. Remus closed his eyes. 

"You," he admitted. 

Sirius' reaction was, as most of his were, immediate and uncautious. The kiss was somewhat more fierce than Remus had expected, and his eyes flew open as he was caught mid-breath. 

Not that he minded.

Especially when Sirius' tongue slid across his bottom lip, gently exploring. Remus opened his mouth slightly, tasted peppermint and caramel. 

Humbugs were definitely going to be his favourite candy from now on.

Sirius pressed him backwards, swinging his own long legs up onto the bed, and Remus quite willingly pulled him down into the nest of pillows and blankets, inhaling deeply so that he could see and smell and taste Sirius all at once just in case this was something that might end at any time...

Sirius, propping himself on his elbows, slid his hips a little, and their legs intertwined, and suddenly Remus realised if he wanted Sirius he was going to get pretty much all of him at once. But for now it was enough to kiss him, deep, warm kisses that expressed at least a year's worth of extremely frustrated fantasy. Fantasies that on Remus' part had involved just precisely this: the feel of Sirius' shirt against his bare skin, a pleased groan as his hands ran down to hook in Sirius' loose trousers -- permission, if he liked, to run those same hands through Sirius' crisp black hair.

Permission, if he liked, to do pretty much anything with his hands that he damn well wanted to do.

He smiled, suddenly. Who cared if it was post-exam high spirits or stress relief or just Sirius being his normal insane self. He had Sirius here and now and if he was very good he might just get to keep him.

Sirius, however, was encumbered by no such thoughts, and possibly by very few thoughts at all, his lips working their way down Remus' throat and across his collarbone, huffing small puffs of air against his bare skin. He felt Sirius fumble for his wand and absently, effortlessly lock the dormitory door, murmuring the words against his skin, and Remus fancied he could feel the magic brush over him -- 

Along with Sirius' fingers. 

Brushing very sensitive places. 

He did as he'd wanted and twined his fingers in Sirius' hair, curly when short and straight when long and always deep blue-black, careless like Sirius. He felt Sirius shiver as he smoothed it repeatedly, finally cupping the back of his head and drawing him up from his fascination with Remus' skin, up to his mouth, up so that he could see his eyes.

Sirius' own hands, granted the same permission, were sliding the beltless trousers from his hips easily, smoothing across the skin of his hips, over his belly, dancing carefully around his cock. 

This was what he'd wanted more than anything and unlike many of his few wishes, he was going to get it, and it was already better than he'd hoped. 

He tried to reach for Sirius' body, to return the oh favour, but Sirius shook his head and his hair fell in his eyes and he couldn't resist touching it again and then he'd forgotten what he was thinking of doing because Sirius felt...so...good. And Sirius didn't seem to mind, his other hand bumped Remus' thigh occasionally and Remus realised why...

His hands clenched as he arched and came against Sirius' hands and body, and Sirius let out a little yelp that was partly pain but mostly pleasure. 

Sirius spoke words and moved a little, but Remus was barely conscious of it, concentrating all his energy on wanting to remember this moment, the warm weight on top of him, the black hair under his fingers, the utter pleasure firing every nerve in his body.

He only opened his eyes again when something touched his lips that wasn't Sirius' lips, and he wanted to know why.

Sirius was straddling him, holding another yellow humbug in front of him. He grinned, and before Sirius could feed it to him, wrapped his mouth around it and Sirius' fingers together, sucking gently.

Sirius' look more than made up for three days of tests. 

"How," he asked hoarsely, "Did you learn to use your tongue like that?"

Remus leaned back, as Sirius released the sweet into his mouth. 

"I'll tell you sometime," he said, pulling Sirius back down by his tie -- Merlin, Sirius was still almost completely dressed, which very nearly made him hard again -- and kissed him. Gently, since he still had the humbug in his mouth, but quite thoroughly nonetheless. 

He tasted the humbug on his tongue, while Sirius kissed cheeks, nose, forehead, temple, and when he'd finished the caramel Sirius kissed his mouth again. Remus smiled.

"I'm glad you stayed," Sirius murmured, and curled around him. "When I wake up," he added sleepily, "I'm going to make you show me just exactly what you can do when it's not candy in your mouth..."

Remus shivered with pleasure, and stroked Sirius' hair. NEWTs, suddenly, didn't matter quite so much. 

After all, he had the thing he most wanted in the world.


	41. Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius plays tricks on Remus in the library, but Remus gets his own in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R (Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None.
> 
> This fic came about through several separate events: Yap's long-neglected request for Library Smut, a cellfic about wibbling written for Jaida, and the vague feeling that Stefanie will probably get a kick out of the gentle library humour. It is, now that I come to think about it, a pastiche. Which is not a type of bread.

It was one of Sirius Black's great pleasures in life -- one of many, as Sirius enjoyed life to its fullest -- to make people wibble. 

A tremble of the lower lip, a wideness in the eyes, not crying so much as panicking -- Sirius didn't like to make people cry, that was cruel, but a moment of mild hysteria was gratifying and entertaining.

James, of course, did not wibble as a rule. After all, he was rich and smart, what did he have to worry about, other than Lily Evans? 

Sirius also did not, because while he was no longer rich, he was still smart, and better than that, Sirius was cool. Wibble is not in the Dictionary of Cool (admittedly a small dictionary, and usually not containing words more than two syllables long). 

Peter gave the best wibble, but he was hardly a challenge; in school all they'd had to do was tell him an assignment was due, or a professor wanted to Talk To Him. Out in the world, they just had to show up at his work, and he'd flip. And the best part about Peter's was that he was always so relieved afterward, he forgot to be angry.

Remus rarely wibbled, but he came in a close second to Peter when he did. He was a challenge, which was why Sirius enjoyed it so. 

He couldn't go after the werewolf often, because Remus was alert. After seven years with Sirius and James, he didn't know the meaning of the word Gullible. It was not in his dictionary, which was admittedly a much larger one than the Dictionary of Cool, and full of words like 'Cathartic' and 'Pastiche'. Which was not, he had once been forced to inform Peter, a type of bread.

So Sirius, who it was suspected had entirely too much time on his hands, stalked his prey with patience. His first opportunity after graduation came when Remus (finally) got a job, as a clerk at a membership-only library in London. 

Remus was perched on a stool, head bent over some sort of ledger, when Sirius leaned on the counter and rapped his fingers on the heavy, expensive wood. Remus looked up and smiled.

"Hallo Pads," he said, and Sirius grinned. "Come to apply for membership?"

Sirius drew his eyebrows together, confused. "No..."

"Then get out, I'm working," Remus replied. 

"Is that any way to talk to a mate?" Sirius asked.

"When he comes to my place of work, a very expensive and very exclusive club of men who don't like anyone under the age of thirty-five, yes," Remus answered, returning to his ledger. 

"Fine, give me a membership form."

"You can't afford it, and you'd never pass the admissions board."

"I happen to come from one of the oldest, most stuck up families in -- "

"A world these people have never heard of. Scram."

"Scram?" Sirius asked. "Your best friend in the world comes to break up the monotony of your day and all I get is Scram?"

"Membership at the junior level is seven hundred pounds," Remus recited. "Bribery of board members is perhaps another two hundred, and then there's a pound sixty for the membership card."

"What's that in Galleons?" Sirius asked, mystified.

"More than you've got to spare."

Sirius was opening his mouth to reply when a voice boomed out of a mysterious-looking back room. "Lupin!"

Remus closed the ledger, slid smoothly to his feet, and turned. "Yes, sir?"

A middle-aged man with a ramrod-straight back and neatly-clipped salt-and-pepper hair emerged, stopping in front of him.

"You're relieved of desk duty," he said. "Henderson's gone and buggered up the classics again."

Apparently this meant something to the pair of them; Remus let out a sigh, and then nodded.

"At least he reads them," he said. 

"Sometimes I wonder," the other man answered. "I think he just goes up there and changes them about so that if his wife asks, we can tell her he was working." He paused and looked over Remus' shoulder, at Sirius. "Hallo, what's here? Applying for membership, are we?"

"This is Sirius Black," Remus said, politely. 

"Of the London Blacks," Sirius added, holding out his hand. The other man's grip was surprisingly firm. 

"Lad of good breeding?" he asked Remus. "He looks it."

"Canis familiaris," Remus said under his breath. "Mr. Black, this is Captain Jacobs, he's in charge of the collection," he added meaningfully.

"The collection of what?" Sirius inquired.

"A prime candidate," Jacobs said to Remus, and Sirius saw just a hint of amusement in the other man's eyes. "I'll take his application, then," he continued, in a louder voice. "Run up and handle Henderson's mess, there's a lad."

Remus nodded, gave Sirius a 'behave yourself' glare, and vanished up a flight of stairs behind the counter. Sirius watched, amazed, as he walked nimbly along an elegant metal catwalk and through a door halfway up the wall of the entrance lobby.

"Now then," said Jacobs, "The London Blacks, did you say?"

Sirius turned and reached into his pocket, as if for a business card.

"Yes, we're an old family," he said disarmingly, and then, continuing in a pleasant tone, "Obliviate."

The man took on a slightly stunned expression, and Sirius re-pocketed his wand, slipping past the desk and into the adjoining rooms while Jacobs was recovering his wits. 

***

Remus found the mess on the first floor, in the Classical Reading Room, next to a quite decent replica of the Augustus of Primaporta. 

The library was private and therefore subject to the whims of the membership; its catalogue system was quirky at best, and rather than the usual divisions, it was separated by room into Classics, Plays, Modern Literature, Natural Science, and Special Collections. Much though it irked his sense of order, it did appeal to his idea of the way a library should be; one should come across things by surprise.

Most of the members belonged to the library for one of three reasons: Prestige, Good Connections, or Safe Haven From Their Wives. The latter spent a good deal of time asleep in one of the many extremely comfortable chairs scattered throughout the building. 

Henderson was one of those rare birds who belonged to the fourth cagetory, Scholarship, and spent much of his time working on some sort of monograph in the Classics room. Remus liked him, but he did have a habit of absently re-shelving books where they didn't belong, leaving them open on the ground, or stacking them haphazardly on the reading table behind the Augustus. 

Apparently they'd finally trained him out of his reshelving habit; a judiciously-timed threat to revoke his membership privileges seemed to have worked. Remus began gathering books from the floor and stacking them on the table next to the piles Henderson had left, absently sorting by call-number. Finally he picked up a pile and walked into the dim stacks, locating the shelf with familiar ease and beginning to find the gaps where the books belonged. 

"Wotcha," said a voice, and Remus nearly jumped. Sirius grinned. "Library Monster!" he said, waggling his eyebrows. 

Remus sighed. 

"I hope you didn't do anything permanent to Captain Jacobs," he said, gently putting a copy of The Agricola in its place.

"Obliviate, that's all. Is this what you do all day?" Sirius asked, as The Germania was slotted into the shelf. 

"Mostly," Remus said, sifting the books into two piles, deftly. "Here, if you're going to hang about, make yourself useful," he added, giving one of the piles to Sirius. Remus found a gap for The Annals of Rome, and put it back.

"Why's he called Captain, anyway?" Sirius asked, putting one of the books on the shelf. 

"He's ex-military," Remus answered. "Soldiers make good librarians, they like everything to be documented and in its place."

"Oh," Sirius responded. "He seems like a bit of a bastard to me. 'Go clean up the mess, Lupin!' " he boomed.

"Shhh, this is a library," Remus hissed.

"There's no one around, Moony," Sirius whined. His plan was working; he could see the faint beginnings of a wibble in the making.

"People pay a lot of money to come here and they don't like their sleep disturbed," Remus continued, straining for a reasonable voice and almost succeeding. Sirius grinned. 

"Do you hear what you just said?" he asked. 

"I'm serious, Sirius -- argh," Remus groaned as Sirius pointed and laughed at him, before putting another book on the shelf. "If you're going to make trouble you should leave."

"I'll behave," Sirius promised, shoving The Twelve Caesars between The Agricola and The Germania. "There's got to be some magical way to do this," he added.

"You know the rules, I work for a Muggle institution, I can't use magic -- Sirius, you're not even pretending to put them where they're supposed to go," Remus sighed. "If you don't shelve them right I have to come back and shelfread and that gives me headaches."

"Shelfread?"

"Look at that shelf and make sure every book is in order." Remus pointed to a shelf. Sirius gave it ten seconds' scrutiny.

"Who cares?" he finally asked.

"That's it. Give me the books, Sirius," Remus ordered. Sirius only had two left; he grinned and stretched his arm above his head, so that they were out of reach of the shorter man. This was it, Remus was about to -- 

"Bad dog," Remus said firmly.

Something deep inside Sirius cowered and tucked its tail between its legs. He found himself trying to flatten his ears against his head. 

Master disapproved.

His arm dropped without him realising it, and Remus took the books out of his hand, with only a hint of triumph.

"Not fair, Moony," Sirius mumbled, great canine shame still washing over him. Damn the Animagus transformation anyway, it wasn't supposed to have side effects...

"Not fair is coming to my place of work and deliberately making trouble for me," Remus said calmly, laying the books flat on an empty stretch of shelf and turning to face Sirius. "This game you play is fine and good, Sirius, but be a grownup about it and do it after-hours like -- "

Well, this was not how things were supposed to go. Sirius, between the scolding and the lecture, felt as though he, himself, was about to wibble. He cast about quickly for a speedy tables-turner, and only one thing really came to mind.

Remus' lecture was cut off suddenly by a mouth against his, hands on his face, and Sirius Black's body pressing him backwards against the shelf. 

"Ha!" Sirius said, releasing him, and then...

...he blinked.

"Oh," he said softly. 

Remus stared at him, wide-eyed. His tongue flicked out over his lips, unconsciously.

"What was that?" he asked, after Sirius had followed the pink tip of his tongue along his bottom lip.

"Well, I was trying to -- "

"I know what you were trying to do," Remus said. "Do you really think that was a good way to go about doing it?"

Sirius, who hadn't realised until the end of the kiss that it had gone straight to his groin, blinked again.

"Get out of here, Sirius," Remus said dismissively.

Sirius managed a breathless "...do it again."

"What?"

"Let me do it again," he gasped.

"What, do you think the second time will be any more -- mmmf..." Remus was once again interrupted by Sirius' mouth, and this time the tongue in particular...

Sirius leaned back, and Remus followed him for a moment before the kiss broke. Sirius still had his hands on the side of Remus' face. 

"That was good," he observed.

"It wasn't bad," Remus agreed. "I've had better."

"Bloody hell, you have not!"

"Have too. No go on, Sirius, I really need to -- "

"I'm not playing a game, Moony," Sirius blurted. Remus' hands touched his wrists, gently removing his own hands from Remus' cheeks. 

"Neither am I," he murmured. "You're just trying to get me in trouble."

"No, Remus -- " Sirius caught his shoulder as he tried to turn, gently pinning him to the library shelf. "I didn't expect...that first one was just a joke, but I..."

Remus just watched him, with a look of mild interest, as though he were explaining why he was late to a lunch appointment. 

Sirius carefully stepped forward, until their faces were inches apart and his body was pressed to his friend's. Remus swallowed when he felt the pressure of Sirius' erection against his thigh. 

"You can't mean it," he said hoarsely. 

"I didn't know..." Sirius was looking at him wonderingly, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone with a thumb. "Did you?"

Remus bowed his head, so suddenly that Sirius' hand slipped into his hair, tangling there. 

"Of course I did," he answered. Sirius leaned in, burying his face in that brown hair, just beginning to thread with grey. He smelled like old books, the Remus-scent Padfoot knew much better than Sirius did. 

"About me?"

Remus laughed against his collarbone. "Don't be a fool. I knew you were the one I wanted, even if you didn't think that way."

"Wanted?"

"Desired. Pursued. Craved. Shall I go on?"

"No," Sirius decided, one of his hands sliding around Remus' hip, pulling him that much more flush with his body. He could feel Remus respond, body shifting slightly, begging for the friction of one against the other. 

Sirius tipped his chin up and kissed him again, and then Remus pulled away with a gasp.

"This is my work," he said suddenly. "My god, Sirius, get the hell away from me!"

"Nobody's here," Sirius said persuasively, leaning in. Remus closed his eyes against the breath on his temple. "It's a dark stack. I bet nobody ever comes down this way..."

He let his teeth graze Remus' earlobe, felt the shudder in his body.

"If you get me fired, Black," he said, in a voice that just barely trembled, "I will personally rip your still-beating heart out of your chest."

"Promises, promises," Sirius whispered, nuzzling his jaw, still not touching any other part of his body. Remus trembled. "You smell like paper," he said, moving to the sensitive skin of his neck. "And writing," he continued, pausing to kiss the place where the other man's pulse was humming in his veins. "And good things," he said, and suddenly there was movement, Remus' hands tangling in his hair, pulling him up for a fierce open kiss, forward until they both slammed back into the shelf. 

"You smell like hunger," Remus moaned, as Sirius pressed close, hips rubbing against his, hands sliding down his ribcage. "And outside, and -- " he cut off into a moan when Sirius's fingers slipped under his belt, controlling how he moved. "God, Sirius -- "

"Shhh," Sirius hushed, as Remus pressed his face against his shoulder, biting the thin fabric of his shirt. He felt nimble fingers fumbling along his hip, and down his thigh, gripping there, almost convulsively. They were moving in a rhythm now, cocks rubbing together between layers of fabric that Sirius desperately wished weren't there, and then the fingers on his thigh were sliding between them, tracing the outline of his body -- 

Sirius grunted and bucked, and Remus repeated the motion, the back of his hand rubbing his own erection, so that when Sirius made that low whine in the back of his throat, it put Remus over the edge and he threw his head back, stifling a cry as he came. The strained noise and the sudden clench of fingers around him made Sirius swear and see stars. 

For a minute there was nothing but the sound of deep, heavy breaths, and the shift of body against body, still craving that extra touch, until Remus' hand ran back up Sirius' body to grip his arm, and he leaned his forehead into Sirius' neck. His other hand reached for his back pocket.

"Scourgify," he whispered, and Sirius felt the warmth of his orgasm fade, replaced by the agonisingly sensitive rub of his clothing against his body. 

"Jacobs is going to be wondering where I am," Remus whispered finally. "I should shelve the rest of these."

"Oh," Sirius answered. "Right...of course. Do you...do you want some help?"

Remus lifted his head and gave him a slightly sardonic look.

"Maybe not," Sirius said hastily. He let one of his hands drift up Remus' back, to stroke the fine hair at the nape of his neck. "Umm. What...should I do?"

"Not kiss me ten minutes ago?" Remus ventured.

"But you...you liked it. Didn't you?" Sirius asked. Panic filled him.

"Well..." Remus bit his lip. Sirius felt his eyes widen. "I didn't not -- "

He stopped, and an expression passed over his face that Sirius finally recognised as Remus Lupin trying desperately not to laugh.

"Got you," he said, and muffled his laughter in Sirius' shoulder. "You're throwing a wibble!" he snickered. Sirius tugged on his hair, vengefully.

"Unfair!" he said, releasing Remus, who stepped back and put his hand to his mouth, smiling almost impishly. 

"Turnabout is always fair play, Sirius," he murmured, and Sirius shivered pleasantly. "Now...scram."

Sirius nodded. "I'll come back at five," he said.

"You'll be arrested for loitering, then, my shift ends at six," Remus answered. He pulled Sirius close for a hungry kiss, then pushed gently. "Come back at six and we'll...talk."

"I like talk," Sirius said quietly. Remus gave him another affectionate shove.

"If I'm late, it's because I'm reshelving all the books you mucked up," he growled. 

Sirius nodded, grinned, and walked away, humming under his breath.


	42. Sweet Tea And Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonks didn't notice the tea, at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R  
> Warnings: Discussion of canonical character death

She didn't notice the tea, that night, or for many, many nights thereafter. Buried in her own thoughts, she didn't see what went on around her, not like she normally had. She did her job, of course, and did it well, and when she was working she was always alert and keen-eyed. 

The effort of it was probably what allowed her to sleep so soundly at night. She usually found herself, at the end of the day, exhaustedly trooping into her flat and being too tired to do more than toss her keys on the bedside table and crawl into bed. 

Tonks hadn't known Sirius as well as some, but he was her cousin and she had memories of him as a child -- the older brother she desperately wanted, the cool kid who came home from school wearing a leather collar or sporting an earring, an earring Sirius, what on earth were you thinking? her mother had asked. 

When she met him again, they were grown, and it was an awkward dance at first, but he was still her cousin, her surrogate-big-brother, and in her way she'd loved him and knew he loved her. Family. They were family. 

It wasn't until nearly September, really, that the grief began to fade and she began to realise things were...

...strange.

She found herself drifting through the library at 12 Grimmauld Place with no purpose, hanging about as if waiting for something. She had no idea why; she could easily go home, and indeed her headache said she ought to, but something else kept her there. An expectation, though for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what. 

"Brought your tea," said a voice behind her, and she started away from where she stood, gazing out the window. Remus Lupin, face careworn but smiling, held out a cup of tea, by the saucer. "It might help your headache."

She wondered idly how he'd known, but didn't ask, leaning against the sill and taking a sip. He sat comfortably on the window-seat, drawing his long legs up so that he could rest a mug on his knee. An odd familiarity, she thought, but looking back over the past few months, she realised that nearly every evening she could remember his face, over the rim of the chipped green mug. 

She sipped and was surprised to taste sugar in it. But then that was familiar too; as if she was rising out of some kind of murky dream, she realised that without her noticing, this had become a ritual.

In the high observatory tower; most often in the kitchen; sometimes in the sitting room he'd claimed as his own, sometimes like now in the library. Every evening. She came to Grimmauld Place without thinking about it, and at some point he always found her -- he lived there, after all, and knew its secrets -- and brought her tea. 

He was watching her. Silently. Drinking what looked to her like it was probably cocoa, which meant that he had made the tea specifically for her. And this too was familiar; the mingled taste of her tea and smell of his cocoa. 

"Felt like reading tonight, did you?" he asked. She was bewildered, for a moment, until she recalled they were in the library. 

"No, I just thought I'd...the view is nice, from here," she said, suddenly anxious. It was like when you had been doing something out of habit for so long that when someone asked you about it, it put you off your rhythm; she fumbled awkwardly, knowing that they'd been sitting and drinking and talking for months without her being conscious of why or how. 

He turned his head to look out the window, and the red sunset-light -- it was light out so late here, in the summer -- caught his face, throwing the premature lines there into harsh contrast, turning his grey-brown hair to copper. She closed her eyes and held the colour in her mind, wanting to save that shade, turning her own hair the same. When she opened them, he was looking at her again. 

"What colour are your eyes?" he asked. She tilted her head at him. "I mean, you just changed them when you changed your hair, which is good as brown wouldn't really suit that shade of red, but...what colour are they when you haven't changed them to anything?"

She raised her fingers to her cheekbone, thoughtfully.

"They aren't," she said. "I don't have a 'real' face."

He sipped, eyes never leaving hers.

"Then...when no-one's around, what colour are they?" he continued. "I'm sorry if it's rude -- "

"No, I don't mind," she replied. She took another sip herself, tasting the sugar and milk in the tea. Had she ever actually told him how she liked it? She must have, otherwise how could he know to prepare it that way?

He was so quiet and still. She wondered if he practiced it.

"Most of the time it's just whatever I chose to look like that day," she said finally, with a shrug. "I like blue. It's what colour mum's eyes were."

He nodded musingly into his cup. "I like blue too," he said. "Shame you don't show it around others more."

"What?"

"Well, they're almost always blue when I bring the tea," he continued, blithely unaware of her bewilderment. "But the rest of the time when I see you, they're green or -- "

He stopped, suddenly, and she looked at him closely; Remus Lupin didn't blush, but there was a hint of embarrassment in his face. 

"What I mean to say is..." he trailed off, and glanced at the sunset again. "I like blue too, that's all."

They drank the rest of the tea and cocoa in silence, he finishing first, waiting for her so that he could take their cups back to the kitchen. 

"You should go home," he said. The final part of the familiar ritual -- him sending her on her way. That was why she never made tea when she got home, she realised; she'd just had a cup with him. 

He saw her out, and she was sure she only imagined the lingering touch of his hand on the small of her back as he guided her down the hall.

***

Molly came by, the next evening, and they spent an enjoyable few hours together; Tonks was not the only one slowly learning to smile and laugh again after the horrible night in the Ministry. She'd brought Arthur, who challenged Remus to a game of Wizard's Chess and thrashed him at it, though Tonks suspected Remus was playing with a self-imposed handicap. He liked to do that, she recalled; take little tasks and add a challenge to them, to keep from becoming bored. He would do a crossword filling in only consonants, so that the words weren't complete and he had to hold them in his head. He rarely solved one, but then if you let him use all the letters in the alphabet he rarely solved it anyway, because he lost interest. 

She saw he wasn't using his bishops at all, and only using his knights when Arthur had just used his. 

"It's a good thing I don't play for money," he joked, as Arthur packed up the chess set. "I see now where Ron got it from."

"Poor Arthur never could get Bill or Charlie interested in the game, but at least one of the lads likes it," Molly answered. Remus stood, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and grinned at her. 

"Who'd like tea?" he asked. Tonks noticed Arthur and Molly exchange a quick glance before shaking their heads.

"Best be getting home," Arthur said, and Molly rose to join him. "We're taking Bill and the twins to a game this weekend, you're both welcome to come."

"I might take you up on that," Remus answered, walking with them as far as the entrance hall, Tonks trailing behind. "Safe trip home," he said, and vanished into the dark recesses of the kitchen.

"Enjoy your tea," Molly said with a knowing smile, to Tonks. "We thought we might make a discreet exit."

"Why? You know you're welcome to stay," Tonks answered, confused.

"Not by Lupin," Arthur observed, leaning over Molly's shoulder, his voice low so that the clattering in the kitchen covered it. "I fully approve, by the by."

"Of what?"

"You and him," Molly said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"But we're not..." she trailed off. "We have tea, sometimes, but that's all."

Arthur and Molly grinned at each other. 

"Very civilised, tea," Arthur coughed. 

"A comfortable ritual," Molly added.

"He's years older than I am, why would I be of the slightest interest to him?" Tonks pointed out.

"Don't look at me, I don't pretend to understand his head, but you are," Molly insisted. "He's courting you, Tonks."

"With tea?"

"Well, he's always been a bit roundabout, hasn't he?" Arthur asked. "Everyone knows it. We thought you did, too. Fred and George say -- "

"Please, don't tell me what Fred and George say," she said, holding up a hand. "It's just tea. We both...we both miss Sirius, that's all, and he's lonely here in this big old house, and -- "

" -- you're lonely too?" Molly asked. Her voice was flippant, but her face spoke of a deep understanding.

"He's never said anything," Tonks said wretchedly, because it wasn't strictly true. She had a feeling that he had been saying it over and over, in his way, and she simply hadn't noticed.

"Chin up, Tonks, there's no harm in tea, as you say," Arthur finished. "Come on, Molly, we're wanted at home. Come to the game this weekend!" he added, over his shoulder, as they left. She barely had time to take a rather shaky breath before Remus appeared at her elbow, silently offering a teacup. She took it just as silently, and followed him back into the sitting room. He dropped onto the couch, tilting his head back to regard the ceiling, cocoa mug balanced on the arm, feet propped lazily on the large, antique coffee table in front of him. 

"I saw what you were doing with Arthur," she said, standing on the other side of the table. He didn't move. 

"What was I doing with Arthur?" he asked.

"Playing handicapped."

"Oh, that. He'd probably beat me anyway, I'm not really that brilliant at chess, but this makes it more interesting. And faster," he added. She set her tea on the table, and circled it. He pulled his legs back so that she could pass, and held his cocoa steady as she sat next to him. She leaned forward to retrieve her drink. Milk and sugar, exactly how she liked it.

"You do that a lot, don't you?" she asked.

"It makes life interesting."

She leaned back too, giving him a sidelong glance. "As interesting as the ceiling?"

"Feels good to stretch out a little."

"There are some times you shouldn't play games like that, you know," she said, shifting to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel him tense. This was not part of the ritual.

"I suppose," he said, shrugging her off and leaning forward, taking a deep drink of the cocoa, badly stifling a wince as he burned his tongue. "Arthur didn't notice."

"That wasn't really what I was referring to," she said. Elbows on knees, shoulders hunched slightly, he turned to look at her. There was a sort of terror in his eyes. She leaned forward too, resting her cheek on his shoulderblade. He took another sip of cocoa, but at least he didn't move this time.

"Molly says you're courting me," she said quietly, into the shabby shirt he wore. He smelled clean, like soap and shaving lotion. "Arthur thinks you're playing handicapped."

His body moved, a little, as he drew a deep breath. "I wouldn't play games with you."

"How did you know I liked sugar in my tea?"

A long silence. He separated himself from her again, and stood, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"All right, that was a game, maybe, but not with you," he said. "Listen, it was just -- you looked so lost that first night, and I didn't want to bother you, everyone was asking everyone else what they could do or how they could help and I just wanted to do something for someone without having to be told what it was."

She had vague recollections of a cup of bitter tea, sipped without thought. 

"So you made tea," she said, with a smile. "How very Remus of you."

"Someone had said you liked milk in it, but I didn't know if you wanted anything else, and you just seemed to drink it, so I let you..." he shrugged. "Next time I tried sugar, and you seemed to like that better -- it only took me four tries to get it right," he added, with a small note of pride. 

"I never said thank you," she murmured.

"That wasn't the point."

"What was?"

"To do what I could, when I could. The point was to give you something to depend on. Tea. And me. And if you happened to notice..." another careless shrug, a little too careless, "...well, then you'd know someone cared about you, I suppose."

She stood, slowly, and saw that he was watching her with a wariness approaching fear. 

"You didn't answer my question," she said, moving forward. He didn't move back, but he looked like he wanted to. "Molly says you're courting me. Are you? You notice what colour my eyes are even when we're not alone, you picked me to be the someone you did something for..."

"Well, you're a beautiful woman and I'm -- I'd have to be dead not to notice your eyes..." he stammered. 

"You don't even drink tea."

"I like cocoa in the evenings."

"And you come looking for me."

"If you don't get your tea you won't sleep...I heard you telling Kingsley..."

They were standing barely apart now, her face lifted slightly, so close she could feel his body heat. She thought she heard a noise, a little like a whine, in the back of his throat.

"It was just drinks and talking. I only meant it to be comfort," he said, softly. "I didn't mean to fall in love with you."

There was barely room between them for breath, but she slid her right hand down his arm -- he closed his eyes against the sensation -- and took the elderly chipped mug from his hand, which shook a little. She raised it to her own lips as he opened his eyes, and sipped the last of it. 

"Sweet," she said, lowering it again. "Do you taste like that?"

"This isn't perhaps -- " he stopped speaking when she kissed him, and the mug tumbled to the floor; neither bent to pick it up, Tonks busy tasting his mouth, Remus busy with his arms around her body, closing the last gap between them. He opened his mouth eagerly, for the shy man of a minute before, and when she opened her brilliant blue eyes his own were watching hers. 

"I thought maybe you did it for me," he breathed against her mouth. "I thought maybe you knew I liked blue eyes...but I didn't want to frighten you..."

"Frighten me?" she laughed, as one of his hands tangled in her hair, stroking her neck. 

"You didn't need me that way," he said, nuzzling her cheek. "You needed a friend."

"I have friends," she answered. "None of them ever -- "

He cut her off with another kiss, more confident this time. 

"Me neither," he said softly. She moaned and pressed closer, wanting contact, suddenly wanting the same from his body as he'd been giving her all these months with his presence and his mind.

And some quiet part of her was whispering that she'd seen how he looked at her when her eyes were blue and she used to be carelessly blue-eyed but after a while she saved it for the evenings and maybe even for him...

He had broad hands, nimble-fingered, and he knew how to use them; hers pressed to his chest, feeling the arch of his collarbones under his shirt, while his were at her neck and sliding across her hip, exploring, stroking, just touching in a way she suspected he rarely did. 

And then suddenly the world and his hands were moving and she was falling, but only for a second, until she realised he was picking her up. 

He was picking her up.

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck because it was, like the tea and the courtship and the shyness, so very much something he would do. 

It wasn't far to his rooms, and he carried her effortlessly; she'd forgotten werewolf strength. He followed her onto the bed gracefully, hips pressing on hers, kissing her with a hunger born of months of frustrated patience, and she kissed back. Their bodies slowly shifted until they fit, and they lay like that for a while, until he leaned back slightly, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Perhaps a little fast," he said softly. "From tea to bed in -- "

"Not too fast," she answered, and he moaned when he felt her fingers at his throat, undoing the buttons of his shirt. "I think it might be impossible to -- " she gasped as he bent, ignoring her hands, to nip her neck, gently, careful not to break the skin. 

She managed to push his shirt off as he nuzzled the collar of her robe open, and the arch and press of his hips when she slid his trousers over them made her moan. 

"You're still dressed," he said, following his hands with his mouth as he undressed her, finally muttering a few words that simply made the clothing vanish entirely.

"Remind me...oh..." she arched into his hands, "to learn that spell from you..."

He hushed her with his mouth, moving rhythmically against her, hands sliding down to grip her thighs when she opened to him, and he didn't stop to ask if she was sure; they were far past any stopping point. She arched suddenly, and he was there, face pressed to her neck, hands moving up again to touch and caress, to do the things they hadn't had time to do before. 

She could feel him quicken and try to control himself, but she didn't want him controlled; she whispered things into his ear that she knew he'd never imagined she could say, ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back, sliding fingers under his shoulderblades, along his spine. 

He reacted with a guttural moan, and his body tensed; another second and he was gasping against her as he came, saying her name in low, even tones, and the suddenness of it, her name on his lips, took her over the edge as well, so surprising that she forgot for a moment how to breathe. 

He was heavy on top of her, breath against her neck, her cheek, and then again on her mouth, relentless. He rested his forehead against hers, hair tickling her scalp.

"Too fast," he whispered again. She felt her hands stroke his cheeks, thumbs sliding down to his jaw.

"Not too fast," she corrected. His eyes opened, barely an inch from hers.

"Good..." he answered, kissing her again. He propped himself up on his elbows, over her, hands straying to her face. "I...I'm sorry..."

She laughed, rolling to her side, and he slid down behind her, pulling her hips against his, her shoulders against his chest. 

"If you're sorry for that, I can't wait until you decide you've done it right," she gasped, laughing, and felt him smile against her shoulder. 

"I didn't mean that," he chided, and his hand slid up her stomach, cupping her breast so that she gasped in the middle of a laugh, and relaxed against him. "I meant..."

He fell silent, thumb stroking her skin, smoothing over it, to the sound of her even breathing. 

"I don't know whether I'm sorry I took advantage of our friendship..." he sighed against her, "Or that I played a game with you. I did. I didn't mean to, but...either way, I'm sorry."

"Hmmm, now let me think," she murmured. "He brought me tea every evening, no matter where I was, and I didn't have to tell him how I liked it because he found that out on his own. He sat with me every night, and sent me home safe so that I could sleep. He did all this without being asked, or thanked. So much to be sorry for."

"She saved her blue eyes for me..." he whispered back, and she felt a pleased thrill go through her. "She gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, some days, because the only thing worth it was seeing her smile when I made the tea right."

Tonks made a small, happy sigh, and closed her eyes. "He stayed with me."

"She asked me to stay."

When Arthur stopped by Headquarters the next morning, he found an empty cocoa mug lying on the floor, and Tonks' tea, cold and still full, sitting on the coffee table.


	43. Always A Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellatrix plays games with her cousin, and her cousin's lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NC-17 (Remus/Bellatrix, Sirius/Bellatrix, Remus/Sirius)  
> Warnings: Hints/discussion of incest; description of murder

And she’ll promise you more  
Than the garden of Eden  
Then she’ll carelessly cut you  
And laugh while you’re bleedin’  
But she’ll bring out the best  
And the worst you can be...  
\-- Billy Joel

"I DISOWN YOU!"

Remus Lupin did not look at all put out by this. 

"Does this mean, when you kick it, I won't get your collection of rancid unwashed Quidditch jerseys?" he asked. There was a snort from Peter, who was studying on his bed. James was going over Quidditch charts on his, Remus was sitting at the foot of his, and Sirius was pacing the room like the raving maniac he had become. 

"You think this is funny? He thinks this is funny!" Sirius said, to James, who didn't look up. "And do you know how I had to find out about it? Do you? NARCISSA."

"Sinister Cissa," Remus murmured. "Might have known it'd be her."

"What the hell were you thinking? You weren't thinking! I know! All you saw was a good shag, not the betrayal of all your best friend holds dear!"

"I thought I was your best friend," James murmured, still not looking up.

"ONE OF THEM!" Sirius roared. 

"You're really quite blowing this out of proportion," Remus said gently. 

"YOU SHAGGED MY COUSIN!"

"It's not as though you like her," Peter said. 

"THAT'S THE POINT!"

"If you shout again, Pads, I'm muting you," James threatened. "Don't think I can't. One good silencing spell would do you for the rest of the year."

Sirius lapsed into sullen, angry, but quieter tones. "You couldn't have done Andromeda, could you. It had to be bloody Bellatrix. You know I hate her," he snarled. 

"Yes, and that's why I thought it wouldn't matter if I -- "

"And she's a seventh year! You're a fifth year! That has to be some kind of...of...child abuse!" Sirius continued.

"I beg your pardon," Remus replied. 

"You're illegally underage! I'm telling Dumbledore."

Remus looked a trifle smug. "Turned sixteen last month, remember?"

"You slept with that bitch!"

"Yes, canine proclivities do seem to run in the family."

"That bitch!"

"Sirius, it's not like I'm proposing marriage to her. It was one night. I didn't think she'd even remember it."

Sirius' jaw dropped. "My friend marrying a Black! I think I'm having a stroke!"

James looked up, finally. "You are some strange, negative-image reversal of your mother," he said. 

"That's it." Sirius fetched up his cloak and pulled it on. "That is it, that is it, that is IT!"

"Mute!" James said threateningly.

"Where do you think you're going?" Remus demanded. 

"I'm going to go kill Bellatrix, what the fecking hell does it look like I'm doing?"

Remus grinned. "You've got a little Irish showing."

"My own cousin!"

They watched as Sirius nearly ran out the door, slamming it behind him. James set his Quidditch sheets down, slowly.

"Bellatrix Black?" he asked, almost gently.

"I'd have done the same," Peter said. 

Remus put one hand over his face, and flopped back on the bed. 

****

Bellatrix, when he finally found her, was in the library stacks. She knew perfectly well what she'd done, and that Sirius'd had an owl from Narcissa about it that day. She knew Sirius would be murderous. She knew he'd find her. 

She had planned this. He couldn't shout in the library. He'd have to kill her quietly.

"Hello, Sirius," she said, not even bothing to pretend she'd been reading a book. He stood there, shoulders heaving, rage shaking his body. "Do sit down. It's so soothing in the Library, don't you agree?"

"You bitch," he answered, leaning on the table, resting his knuckles on either side of her folded arms. She was wearing some boy's Hogwarts shirt, collar undone, a Slytherin tie hanging loose. Her hair, long and black and curling at the ends like his did, hung over her shoulders. 

"Surely you can do better than that," she answered, leaning back. "No points for originality."

"You seduced my best friend!"

"How do you know he didn't seduce me?"

"Because you're not human, you don't get seduced," Sirius answered angrily. "How dare you. How dare you play these games with me, Bellatrix."

"With you? I thought the games were with sweet innocent Lupin," she replied. 

"You used him."

"He used me."

"He doesn't know any better, he doesn't know you've got a sucking lamprey for a heart," Sirius answered. 

Bellatrix tapped one elegant finger against her lips. "You do look so grown up when you're angry like this," she answered. "Dear Remy, he looked more like a boy than ever, when I kissed him."

"He hates that name."

"He did say something to that effect. But he let me fuck him anyway. Do you think he was a virgin? I imagine you'd be the one to know."

Sirius closed his eyes, and found some kind of fingernail-clinging grip on sanity. 

"Tell me, Sirius, are you angry because you hate me, or because you love him?" she asked. The finger she'd been tapping on her lips slid over her jaw, down in the hollow of her throat. He growled. 

"Both," he answered. She chuckled, low and sensual.

"My cousin the sodomite," she said, amused. 

"I didn't mean it that way, and you know it."

"Didn't you?" she asked, standing. He turned, in order to stay facing her, as she circled the table. "You're slipping, Sirius."

"Just because you don't know how to have friends without sleeping with them or buying them -- "

She clapped her hands delightedly. "Much better!"

"Fuck you, Bellatrix."

"Mmm, Remus certainly did." She reached out to tap him on the nose, something she'd done when they were children, and he caught her wrist. "Strong man. Yes, you're much more grown up than he is."

"You stay the hell away from him or so help me, Bellatrix -- "

"Don't you want to know?"

That stopped him in his tracks. The finger she'd extended curled against her palm, her wrist still in his grip. He watched it, fascinated.

"I could tell you everything," she said softly, moving closer. He tightened his grip on her wrist, saw her close her eyes and realised she was enjoying the pain. "I could tell you..." she continued, as he dropped her hand as if it had burned him.

"You're a monster," he said, stunned.

"Am I? Don't you want to know?" she asked. She stepped forward again, and her breasts brushed his chest. She was shorter, not by much; her eyes held his, and she smiled seductively. "Don't you want to know how he moaned when I kissed him? I could tell you what his tongue felt like in my mouth. Do you want to know if he's good with his hands?" she laughed, and leaned up, and he didn't lean away. "He's very good," she whispered in his ear. 

Her teeth grazed his earlobe.

"Don't you want to know how he touched me? What he felt like inside? Don't you ask yourself?" she continued, returning to stare up at him. "Do you want to know what sort of sounds he makes?"

"Monster," Sirius managed.

"But you want to know," she replied. Her hips pressed into his and he realised with a flush of embarrassment that he was hard. "Poor innocent Sirius, you are a virgin, aren't you? Saving yourself for him? And you can't bear that I got there first."

"Bellatrix, you bitch, I will -- "

"He makes a little noise, right in the back of his throat," she said, cutting him off sharply. He drew a quick breath. He knew the noise. One time, in fourth year, he'd heard Remus make that noise in his sleep. He'd waited a year to hear it again. "And then he bites down, a little, right here on the lip..." She rubbed her lower lip with her knuckle. "Do you want to know everything, Sirius?"

"What price?" he asked, hoarsely. She smiled.

"Do what he did," she said, her hand sliding down the shirt she wore, undoing another button smoothly. He could see, now, that she had nothing on underneath. He could see -- 

"You're my cousin," he groaned. 

"So? Our grandmother married her cousin," she answered. "We're the Blacks. We do this all the time..."

"It's sick."

"You're sick. We are normal," she answered. Another button. She took his hand, stroking her fingers across his palm. His stomach tensed. "We have all the power. We say what is normal. You, you're the freak, spending your time with half-breeds and mudbloods."

"It's wrong, Bellatr -- " he gasped as she guided his fingers inside the shirt, over one of her breasts. Her nipple hardened under his thumb. 

She moaned his name, slowly, her hand guiding his. "Then don't do it," she said. "Can you walk away from this? From knowing everything you want? It's the closest you'll ever get to him. He doesn't fuck boys."

She slid up onto the broad study table, in the deep darkness of the library stacks, empty this late in the evening. She wanted him, here. In this public place. And as she spread her legs he could see that she wasn't wearing anything under her skirt, either...

Sirius groaned, again, and left his senses behind, and fell forward into the arms of Bellatrix Black.

***

"Sirius! Get out of the shower!"

"Bugger off!"

"I need the toilet, and you've locked the whole room!" Peter cried. "You've been in there half an hour!"

"Is he back, then?" Remus asked, trudging into the dormitory. "So glad I spent all this time making sure he hadn't drowned himself or gotten killed by his cousin..."

"Be your fault if he had," James said. "Oi, Sirius!" he called. "You can't stay there forever, get out already!"

"Here, let me," Remus rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Peter looked sullen. "He's double-charmed it. I can't break it."

"I'm not too bad at those." Remus thrust his wand out, and tried a few charmbreaking spells before the lock finally popped open. He took off his shoes and socks, and shed his jacket. "Won't be long," he said, grinning. "Stop hopping, Peter."

He stepped into the steam-filled room, and made his way, nearly-blind, towards the last shower, where Sirius was, apparently, actually trying to drown. He heard Peter dash inside after him, and sigh with relief, and then dash out again. 

"Sirius, don't make me turn the hot water off," Remus threatened. "You know I can."

"Sod off, Lupin, I'm still mad at you."

"That doesn't mean you get to steam-clean the entire Gryffindor Tower."

Sirius shut the water off, and Remus looked away when he heard damp footsteps. 

"I've a towel," Sirus muttered. Remus glanced at him --

And sniffed. 

And froze.

Sirius froze too.

"I can smell her on you," Remus whispered. "Under the soap and the water and -- I can smell her. On you."

Sirus slid down the wall, towel barely preserving his dignity, and covered his face with his hands.

"Sirius, I thought you were going to kill her, I didn't think you were going to -- "

"Shut up, you don't know why I did any of it," Sirius cried. 

Remus crouched in front of the other boy, reaching out to smooth back an errant lock of hair. "Well, I guess we're even, then," he said softly. 

"What, because we've both been used mercilessly by my unnatural cousin?"

Remus chuckled softly. "You really don't get it, do you, Sirius." He pressed gently on Sirius' forehead, forcing him to look up. "Neither of us understand why the other one did it, you stupid git," he said. "Do you want me to tell you why, or is that just going to make you shout a lot, again?"

Sirius, who was wondering how anyone could have eyes so old as Remus Lupin's, didn't speak. 

"Did Narcissa tell you anything about how, or when?" Remus waited. Sirius was busy feeling the warm closeness of his body. "I didn't think so. She spiked my drink at the Lupercal Dance. She's so much older than me, Sirius, and she didn't give me a chance to catch my breath, let alone get my bearings. I thought I was taking advantage of her. I thought that would be why you wouldn't care. Score one for the Gryffindors, Remus Lupin got his."

Sirius nodded, feeling Remus' hand still on his forehead, his palm sliding against his water-slick skin. 

"I didn't think it mattered. I didn't tell you. I didn't think she'd use me against you." He let go of Sirius' face, and leaned back. "I'm so sorry, Pads. And the truth was..."

Sirius flinched. This would be bad, he could imagine what the truth was -- 

"...she looks so much like you." 

That wasn't what he'd been expecting.

"Like me?" Sirius asked. Suddenly he felt cold, he felt freezing, though he was sweating. 

"And I didn't figure I'd ever get the chance with you," Remus said wryly. "How about that. Bet you didn't know I was a -- "

He didn't finish, or Sirius didn't hear him; he was laughing too hard. 

Remus gave him a sour look. "Thanks very much, so glad my inner monologue amuses." 

"Oh, Remus, we are fools," Sirius said, through tears of laughter. "We are fools, fools, fools. But neither of us are as big a fool as Bellatrix."

The other boy looked bewildered.

"I slept with her on a table in the library because she promised if I did she'd tell me what it was like with you, and all she told me was that you were better," he groaned, pulling Remus' head forward. 

"What are you playing at?" Remus demanded, right before Sirius kissed him.

Oh, Bellatrix could never have told him how this felt, the slick damp skin from the steam, the hair so thin and fine when Sirius curled his fingers in it. The wet heat of Remus' mouth, opening, letting him inside, Bellatrix could neither tell this nor give it herself, and suddenly his disgust with his actions was swept away in a wave of pity because Bellatrix would never, ever feel this. 

Sirius slid down until he was sitting against the wall, let Remus move to straddle him, barely conscious that Remus had re-charmed the door with a slam. 

"They'll think we're fighting," Remus mumbled, against his cheek. Sirius slid his face down, resting it against Remus' neck, lips grazing his collarbone. Remus' hands slid up his arms, holding his head against him. 

"I wanted to know even if I couldn't do it myself," Sirius whispered, against his skin. Remus cradled his head, stroking back the wet hair, smoothing it into neat lines. 

"Can't you?" he asked, his other hand dropping, undoing the loose tuck of the towel at Sirius' waist. His thumb slid across Sirius' navel, slowly moving lower, and Sirus gasped. 

"Don't think about it," Remus urged, fingers stroking, settling into a rhythm that Sirius began to arch into. "Think about me. Feel. I'm here."

"Moony," Sirius moaned. 

"I'm here."

"Moony she called me -- "

"I'm here, Sirius," the brown-haired boy said, and Sirius was about to finish repeating what Bellatrix had said when Remus threw back his head and made that noise. 

Low and in the back of his throat. Almost a whine, perhaps a sigh. 

Sirius shuddered, his whole body tensing as he came, the sight sound feel smell the pressure of Remus, his Remus, overwhelming. And Remus held him still in place, cradled against his chest, his own breathing even and low and steady, until Sirius nuzzled his skin and pulled back. 

"She doesn't matter," Remus said, looking him in the eye. The hand that had held him steady now stroked his cheek, infinite affection, infinite comfort. "Only you and I matter, Sirius."

***

It was days later when Bellatrix saw them in the halls, and anyone who knew as she did, or who thought they knew, could have seen the difference. Could have seen what they were. 

Bellatrix was not afraid of Sirius. Ever.

"You may think you got what you wanted," she said in a low voice, to Sirius, as she passed in the hall. He turned to her, blandly inquiring. "You may think he owns you but a piece of you is always mine and one day I'll come back for the rest, Sirius Black. And he won't be able to save you."

"You try," Sirius answered. "Go ahead and try."

***

Bellatrix felt a hand grip her wrist, and was pulled from the Pensieve; she didn't remember being sent into it, but she must have, and there was so little she remembered these days...

"I got him," she cackled. "I did get him in the end. I came and HE couldn't save him."

"Very true, Bella," Remus Lupin said, gently, quietly. "You got him."

"I got him all," she continued, happy as any child. "I killed him!"

"Indeed," Remus continued. She felt one hand stroke down her throat, and knew it was familiar, from some time long ago...

She wanted to ask him who he was, but his thumb pressed suddenly and firmly against her windpipe, cutting off her air. She flailed, but his hand did not move. She tried to utter curses, hexes, anything, but the pressure on her throat effectively kept her from speaking as well as breathing.

She stopped struggling after two and a half minutes, but he held her throat for nearly ten. Long after her pulse had faded, long after her body had gone limp.

Remus Lupin, slowly and carefully, lowered her to the ground. He picked up the pensieve, and began the careful task of replacing the memories. Some of the things she'd seen had been hers and hers alone, because she was insane and her memories would mingle with those that triggered them. He could taste no taint of her memory in the long thin strands of silver that he was replacing, in the recollections he'd arranged for her to see.

Somehow he wanted her to see how little she mattered, before she died. 

His work done, he put the Pensieve into its case, and vanished into the night.


	44. Fool For A Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus has always been a fool for a Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NC-17 (Sirius/Remus/Regulus)  
> Warnings: Consensual incest

It wasn't that he meant to ever think these thoughts, because lord knew they were awful thoughts to think. 

It wasn't as though the idea had just occurred to him out of the blue, which was comforting, because it meant it wasn't some sort of sick kink that would follow him through his life. He didn't need kinks. Gay werewolves had quite enough to be going on with, thanks, without being kinky gay werewolves. 

Still, the thoughts fascinated him, became central to his fantasies, and once even crept into his dreams. He woke that time and almost flung himself on Sirius, next bed over, waking the black-haired boy with a desperate kiss-grope-moan and indulging in one of the most satisfying fucks they'd managed since they started Christmas of sixth year. Which was saying something, because Sirius always made sure things were...satisfying. 

He was almost certain the Thoughts were Sirius' fault somehow, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why, and of course telling Sirius was out of the question. Sirius and Regulus didn't always get along even when they were both fully clothed, and Remus was almost positive Sirius wouldn't be at all interested in his younger brother being naked anywhere near his (boyfriend? lover? fucktoy?) Remus. 

It was Sirius' insistence on the Hogsmeade trip that had resulted in the Thoughts, of course, because he'd been trying to get Regulus away from the family since he himself had run off, which was the root cause of most of their brotherly conflict. It had to be said that, for Sirius, he was trying awfully hard. He'd asked Regulus along on the evening jaunt, shared his firewhiskies with the ickle fifth year, and matched his brother drink for drink. James and Remus had matched him too, but then James held his drink obscenely well and Remus was only drinking water, a fact which escaped notice until the fifth or sixth round, at which point nobody was sober enough to care. 

This was the crystallising moment, which probably wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been sober, but then who knew? Perhaps being drunk would only have made it worse. At one point, Sirius had shot back his firewhiskey and Regulus, next to him, had applauded; they'd turned in their seats to grin at each other, and then Sirius had looked across the table at Remus, and Regulus had automatically turned to follow his gaze. He was the subject of intense focus of two sets of nearly-identical pale blue eyes in those narrow, clever faces, Sirius' tongue darting out over his bottom lip and Regulus looking lazily curious, both flushed slightly with the alcohol. 

And there sat Remus Lupin, with a sudden and embarrassing erection, wanting nothing more than to slide between the Black brothers and find out if mindblowing orgasms ran in the family. He was almost positive they would.

Reality, of course, sometimes infringed on the fantasy, since he was Remus Lupin, after all. He had no idea if Regulus had ever had sex or even fancied blokes, though most Slytherins would take what they could get and if Sirius was anything to go by, most Blacks would too. He had no idea if Sirius would be interested in sharing with anyone, let alone the brother he'd been forced to share with his whole life. He certainly had no idea how either of them would react to the suggestion that they both be naked in the same bed, even if he was (preferably) between them. Or if they'd even let him be the one in the middle, massive egotists that they both were. 

Still, the real life logistics had very little to do with his solitary early-morning fantasies and didn't impair his enjoyment in the slightest -- at least, not while it was going on. 

He eased his shoulders up onto his pillow a little and closed his eyes, grateful for the hangings that allowed them all privacy to, as it were, be alone with their thoughts. 

"Starting without me?" Sirius asked, ducking through the hangings without warning. Remus merely threw the covers back, and Sirius slid in, curling around him, erection evident through his pyjamas. Remus turned to kiss him, rolling onto his side so that their bodies pressed together, and rolled his hips. "Tsk, Moony, no patience at all..."

"I fuck you, don't I?" Remus replied, grinning, and Sirius shoved his tongue in his mouth to shut him up, while his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his pyjamas. In short order they were naked and wrestling for dominance as they always did; it seemed...closer to being okay, somehow, if there was a little boyish tussle first. 

Sirius liked to bite, gently, and Remus liked to let him, once he put up pretense of a struggle to get on top. Sirius might think he was the boss, but he didn't do anything Remus didn't consciously let him do, when it came down to it. And Remus liked the solid, unyielding weight of him, and he liked what Sirius did. 

He grinned and moaned as Sirius rubbed against him, pulling him closer, letting the other boy's mouth wander over his skin. He tipped his head back, listened to Sirius' soft grunts and whines of arousal, and wondered if Regulus would make those little noises too, especially if Regulus could see him wrapped around his older brother, their hips bucking together in unison -- 

***

"You're staring at him again."

Remus looked away from the object of his study at the Slytherin table, and sideways across their breakfast plates at Sirius.

"I think Moony thinks about Regulus more than I do," Sirius continued, as an aside to Peter, who grinned agreeably. 

"I feel for him," Remus replied. "He's very confused, much more lost than you were at that age. You didn't have your housemates pulling you in one direction and an older brother pulling you in another, to say nothing of your family. He must feel quite lost sometimes."

"He wouldn't be if he'd just listen to me," Sirius grumbled, before leaning forward and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Not going to have to fight him for you, am I?"

"No, Sirius," Remus answered calmly, and it was true. However alluring the idea of two sets of lips on his body, four of those broad, clever-fingered hands holding him, Sirius meant more -- even if he didn't mean more to Sirius. Perhaps he did. One never knew. If he did, it didn't stop Sirius from taking the occasional Ravenclaw-girl-of-easy-virtue behind the greenhouses. Which was all right, in its way. Got it out of his system in a quiet, no-nonsense fashion. 

"Good," Sirius said, leaning back to spread some marmalade on his bun before adding sausage and half a fried egg. Remus, who was eating and actually enjoying oatmeal, felt his arteries and tastebuds wince. "But he does like you. He said so."

"Me? He hardly knows me."

Sirius shrugged. "Said he thought you were a stand-up sort of chap. Also, and I quote, not your usual Stodgy Gryffindor Prefect."

"Damnation by faint praise," Remus said, feeling rather damned on several levels. These sorts of Thoughts got you sent to Hell in the stricter Muggle religions.

"Maybe you ought to speak to him. You know. Someone not blood related. Someone who doesn't hate his parents."

"I do hate his parents," Remus protested. "I just haven't met them. So it's theroetical hate."

"Hate by proxy," James suggested.

"Yes, thank you. Solidarity," Remus added, raising a fist that unfortunately had his spoon still in it, which made him look a bit of a fool. 

"You could buy him a butterbeer in Hogsmeade next weekend," Peter suggested.

"You could buy him a firewhiskey, he'd appreciate that a lot more," Sirius put in. 

"Since when did I become Sirius Black's personal recruiter?" Remus asked peevishly, to hide the taut arousal uncoiling at the idea of another Hogsmeade evening with the Black brothers. If once had been fodder for several weeks' worth of fantasies...

"I'll pay," Sirius said, wheedlingly. "You can put it on my tab at the Three Broomsticks. Look, I'll even come along in case the Slytherin Doom Brigade shows up to harass you."

"We'll all go," James said.

"So I'm just spokesman?" Remus asked.

"You know what you do, is," Sirius said. "You just sort of slide up, and you sit like this..." he scooted closer to Remus on the bench. "And you lean in close and you talk really quiet, like..."

"Stop it, you're disturbing Peter," Remus said, shoving him back and laughing. 

"You try that, he'll listen to you."

"He'll think I'm a pervert, is what he'll think."

Sirius sat back with a vaguely injured look in his eye, and Remus sighed. 

"I'll invite him along," he said. "That way he won't think it's just you who wants him around."

"See? Moony's a mate," Sirius announced. Remus stuffed down the feeling that he was somehow being duplicitous about inviting Regulus to come drink with them again.

***

Oh, this had been such a bad idea.

Remus sat next to Peter on their favourite rock, just on the Hogsmeade side of the Forbidden Forest. Between the werewolf, stag, and dog, they'd marked this area enough times that animals and even centaurs kept clear of it, but the danger wasn't from outside sources -- it was from the Black brothers, who were both a little too full of firewhiskey and shouting themselves hoarse at each other.

James, sitting on the ground below Remus and Peter, lit a cigarette and passed it up to Remus, who took a perfunctory drag before passing it to Peter. 

"I blame you, Moony," James said, blowing smoke out through his nose. 

"Me? How is this my fault?"

"You invited him." 

"You encouraged me! Sirius asked me to!"

"Yes, but you're our conscience, you're supposed to know better," Peter said. 

"How long do you reckon they'll carry on? We'll have to sneak in if we're not back at the school soon," James mused. 

"You pair of bloody cowards, you're going to make me break it up, aren't you?"

"They'd only knock me over," Peter pointed out.

"I'm drunk," James added. 

"You see what sobriety gets me?" Remus said to the world in general. He slid off the rock and squelched through the late-autumn mud towards the pair. 

"Why can't I?" Regulus was demanding. "I don't see why!"

"Because they're Slytherins!" Sirius shouted back.

"I'M A SLYTHERIN!" Regulus bellowed. 

"You're a Black first! I'm your brother, listen to me!"

"Oh yeah? Blood trumps House, does it? So I suppose when Mum tells me to be a good Slytherin and -- "

"Are you actually going to listen to that wailing inbred banshee that spawned us?"

"Don't you say that about our mum!"

"Deny it if you can! She doesn't care about you, she only cares about -- "

"She does so! Just because you ran off to be with your wonderful Potter and sulked when they didn't come groveling on their knees to have you back again, you think they don't care about anyone, but they still care about me!"

"They don't care about you, Regulus, they just tell you what to do! There's a difference!"

"Lads," Remus said, quietly. They ignored him.

"You wouldn't know because you don't care about anything! You're a fine one to talk about them telling me what to do. I don't suppose you know what it's like to have someone telling you to ignore all your friends because they're evil! What am I supposed to do, spend all my time in the library, like you do?"

"Every bloody day of my bloody Hogwarts career my parents thought my friends were evil!"

"So what's the difference?"

"The difference is I'm right and they're wrong!"

"OI!" Remus shouted. They turned to regard him for a moment, then moved to go back to yelling at one another. "Sirius, shut your bloody trap about your parents and Regulus, stop acting like a petulant child, before you each cost your house fifty points."

"You can't do that," Regulus said sullenly.

"I'm still a Prefect, and James can if I can't," Remus said promptly.

"You see, the LOT of you, hiding behind Potter -- "

Remus reached out and took Regulus by the collar, pulling him close so that they were eye to eye. He had intended to indimidate the younger boy, but this close he could smell him, the same aftershave Sirius used but with a different undertone, something dark and not quite altogether safe, picked up in the Slytherin dungeon. He felt his face flush, his breathing speed up.

"I don't hide behind anyone," he managed. He heard his own voice low and hoarse, though for reasons other than what Regulus probably thought. "If you can't keep a civil tongue in your head -- " oh god, he'd just talked about Regulus Black's tongue, " -- I am not above pounding you -- " oh god oh GOD " -- into the ground right here."

"You let off my brother," Sirius said resentfully. Remus slowly released Regulus' collar, shoving him back gently.

"No one picks on my family but me, eh?" he asked Sirius. "How very tojours pur of you."

Sirius looked for a moment like he was going to spring for Remus, which was after all the desired effect; at least if they were both angry at the same person, they had something momentarily in common. 

"We have to get back to Hogwarts," James said, joining him. "Come on, we'll sneak you in, Regulus. Once we hit the dormitory stairs you're on your own, though."

"Sod off, Potter," Regulus snarled, but he fell into step behind James and Peter, next to Remus and trailed by Sirius, who was still sulking. Remus caught the younger Black sneaking sidelong glances at him, and wondered if they were fear, curiousity, or annoyance.

"He means well," he said quietly.

"Perhaps he could mean well a little less earnestly," Regulus muttered. "Just because I'm a Slytherin I'm not automatically evil, you know."

"I know that."

"Then why can't you tell him?"

"He won't listen to me any more than he does to you."

"It's not like I like shouting at him, but the only reason you have me along anyway is so that he can keep working on me."

"That's not true, Regulus. I like you."

"Balls."

"I do."

"You don't, you're only saying that because Sirius told you to."

"I'm not in the habit of doing anything because someone tells me to," Remus replied. 

"Bet you he couldn't spend an evening with me and not talk politics," Regulus sighed.

"I wouldn't exactly call it politics -- "

"See? You're doing it too."

Remus avoided a particularly deep puddle. "All right, calm down. I'll talk to him."

"It won't do any good."

"Give him another chance, will you?"

Regulus rolled his eyes, but he nodded, just as Sirius caught up with them and his sullen silence washed over the whole group. 

They left Regulus at the top of the Slytherin stairs, and continued on to the Gryffindor dormitory, James dropping onto the Common Room sofa to distract Lily from her studying while Peter went off in search of the sixth-year he was trying, in his own earnest and pathetic way, to seduce. Sirius stumbled tiredly up to the dormitory, and Remus hesitated before following, but it was either have a row with Sirius or watch James and Lily coo at each other on the sofa, and with Sirius there might be make-up sex. Remus was not so far grown beyond his peers that his hormones didn't dictate his actions once in a while.

Sirius was already undressing when he arrived, shucking off muddy shoes and tossing his jumper on the floor, followed by his shirt. Remus left his shoes at the door and hung his jacket up, sitting on his bed patiently.

"You didn't have to say that about me," Sirius said finally. "You didn't have to throw my family in my face."

"You are very like your family sometimes, Sirius, and I'm not going to hide from that fact," Remus answered. 

"I'm not like them."

"Not always...."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Remus sighed. "What makes you telling Regulus what to do any different from your parents telling him what to do?"

"The fact that I'm right!"

"Leaving who's right and who's wrong out of it for the moment."

"That's no good, I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't right," Sirius said.

"I think perhaps the question isn't whether you would or wouldn't, but whether you should anyway," Remus replied. 

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Listen, he wants to spend a whole evening out with us without talking about..." Remus grinned. "Well, he called it politics."

"POLITICS?" Sirius demanded. "This is his LIFE we're talking about here -- "

"Clearly he was right," Remus said, drily. Sirius shut his mouth suddenly. "He thinks the only reason you're letting him tag along is so you can tell him how evil he is."

"I never told him that!"

"You're telling him Slytherins are evil, which amounts to the same thing." 

Sirius stared at him for a while, then slumped onto his bed, throwing his arms over his head. "I can't do anything right. If I shut up I'm a bad brother, if I don't shut up I'm just making him angry."

"It's not your job to tell him what to think, you know," Remus said, moving to sit on the edge of Sirius' bed. Sirius looked up at him from the pillows. "All you have to do is lead by example."

"But he isn't following!"

"That's his prerogative," Remus continued, resting one hand on Sirius' flat stomach, the skin cool under his fingers. Sirius closed his eyes and sighed.

"Let's not talk about him," he said finally, sitting up just enough to get his arm around Remus' waist and pull him down too. Remus laughed and writhed, but Sirius held him tight, chest pressed against his shoulders, and was already reaching for the button of his trousers.

"Let's not talk at all, eh?" Remus asked, but Sirius nipped the tender skin of his neck, chidingly, and he caught Sirius' scent as the other boy rubbed against him. He let Sirius strip off what remained of their clothes, let him wrap arms around his waist and hands around his cock and stroke him, whined when Sirius released him for a moment to sit up and close the hangings around the bed, mutter a few quick charms before his wand clattered to the ground nearby. 

As soon as they were safe, he rolled and pinned Sirius down, face-first in the pillows, and they struggled together as Sirius tried to get up. Finally Sirius laughed and gave in, thrusting back against him, and Remus whispered obscenities he never would have said elsewhere -- never would have learned, if it weren't for Sirius -- in his ear as he prepared him with another charm. Sirius loved this, he knew Sirius loved this, liked being taken, controlled, liked his hand around his cock as he pushed inside him...

Remus leaned close and kissed his spine, inhaled deeply, smelled sweat and the outdoors and that scent that Regulus shared and he came without warning, as caught up in the rush as Sirius was, and as surprised. Sirius gave a small choking cry as his hand tightened around him, and arched helplessly as he came too. 

"I like angry fucks with you," Sirius muttered, as Remus cleaned up the mess and settled in next to him, stroking his hair away from his face. 

"I could promise you outrageous sexual favours," Remus answered, studying Sirius' eyes lazily.

"In return for what?"

"One evening in Hogsmeade, with your brother, without trying to get him to think or do anything," Remus answered. "Just being his brother. Slipping him booze under the table and talking about, oh, girls and things."

"You're not interested in girls," Sirius muttered. 

"Regulus might be. And you are, after all, the great Sirius Black," Remus grinned. "It's not as though you don't at least pretend to show an interest now and again."

"Got to keep up appearances."

"And you enjoy it."

"Does that bother you?"

"No," Remus said, and it was true. No matter how many skirts Sirius managed or how often James snuck out to see Lily after hours, they were mates, and mates meant more than girls. And always would, so far as Remus was concerned. 

***

"What do you mean, you can't come along?"

James shrugged. "Sorry, mate. Lily wants a nice dinner, and she's tired of being abandoned for you lot at the Three Broomsticks."

"You've only been going out for three weeks," Remus said.

"Yeah, well, I've only got the one shot with her, haven't I? Still on probation, eh? Got to make the most of it," James answered easily. "Listen, it's just the once."

"But this is important, how am I supposed to keep a muzzle on Sirius if you aren't there?"

"Might be easier," Peter suggested. "He listens to you more when we're not around."

"We?" Remus demanded, lacing up his boots. Peter pulled his jumper over his head, mussing his hair. 

"Oh, yeah -- I'm taking Felina up to the Shrieking Shack," Peter said with a wink.

"She's just using you, old man," Sirius put in, arriving from the common room. 

"I don't expect you'd understand a girl who likes to wait until the proper moment, instead of waiting until you can find a convenient dark corner," Peter said loftily. "Felina Stilton is a lovely unspoilt girl, and -- "

" -- and she's using you," Sirius finished, dressing hastily. "If she's unspoilt, so's four-week-old milk."

"Looks like it's just you two and Regulus," James said. "Sorry."

"Grand, we can talk about girls without burning Peter's delicate ears," Sirius announced, and Peter threw a bundled-up pair of socks at him. "Ready to go, Moony?"

"Just about," Remus said, checking to make sure he had his wand and his gloves. "All right. Peter, brush your hair before you go."

Peter put a hand to his head and scowled, rummaging in the messy rat's-nest of odds and ends on top of his dresser for a brush. Sirius laughed and disordered it even more as they passed on their way out the door. 

"We might as well stay in, in that case," Remus said, as they made their way down the stairs. "What's the use of going all the way to Hogsmeade in the snow and paying for drinks? We can nip up to the classroom on the fourth floor and steal some of James' stash."

"We should ask Regulus what he wants to do, right?" Sirius said, as though he were trying to answer a difficult pop quiz question. Remus clapped him on the back.

"You're right, we should. Well done."

***

"No no no -- see, you have to do it like Remus there, he knows how. One swallow and you're done, and some water to wash it down with."

Remus set his glass down unsteadily and felt the drink burn its way down his throat. Sirius had insisted that if it was just the three of them, Remus had to actually drink, and since only Sirius knew how to get into James' secret cupboard in the old, deserted classroom, he had very little choice in the matter at any rate. They'd started with firewhiskey but this last shot had been from a small flask of mandrake vodka, which Sirius was currently quizzing them on the uses and functions of, while he sprawled on a sofa they'd transfigured from an empty bookshelf. 

"Right, okay, mandrake vodka," Regulus said, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "Used in aphrodesiac potions, for cleaning magical piercings -- "

"Oww," Remus put in, imagining the burn of alcohol on fresh wounds.

"Ahooo!" Sirius said mockingly. Remus glared at him, then glanced at Regulus, but the younger boy was biting his lip, still working on the knotty question.

"I dunno, what else?" he asked. Sirius leaned over and poured him another shot. 

"This time do it right," he said, and Regulus swallowed nervously before lifting the shot glass. He swallowed it smoothly and sipped from his water glass to wash away the taste before he could grimace. 

"That's it," Remus said encouragingly. 

"You're up, Lupin," Sirius added, refilling his glass.

"Right, but after this, I'm done," Remus cautioned, feeling his head swim a little. "Mandrake vodka is der....der...ived from the berries of the mandrake, not the....other bits."

"Roots," Sirius supplied helpfully. 

"Yeah, those," Remus said. "which is why it's not, you know, just alone, an aff...aphr...sex potion."

Sirius and Regulus broke down into rude sniggers, and Remus took the opportunity to wrest the flask from Sirius' hands, pouring the last of it into his glass. 

"You," he said, and Sirius, between laughs, downed the shot easily, not bothering to drink afterwards. 

"Mandrake vodka was used to gentle Hippogriffs before -- before....something," Sirius said finally. 

"Right font of knowledge, you are," Remus replied. "Budge over, I want up on the sofa."

Sirius obligingly shifted his legs, and Remus made to stand, but the world spun a little and he decided against it. Regulus burst out laughing. 

"If you're so steady on your feet, you give me a hand up," Remus retorted, and Regulus stood, swaying. He reached out a hand to Remus, around the table, and began to haul the other boy up, but then he lost his balance and, as Sirius grabbed for his shirt, fell over as well. Sirius, pulled down with him, joined the pile of knees and elbows on the floor, as Remus tried to crawl out from underneath.

His body reacted as always to the warmth and the weight and the scent, however, and before he knew what he was doing he'd arched against a solid, moving body, and tangled his fingers in someone's hair to kiss them.

Too late, he realised it was the wrong face, a little too narrow in the jaw, a little too snub in the nose, a little too young...

He scrambled backwards, away from the brothers; Regulus was propped on his elbows, looking startled and licking his lips. Sirius was staring at him, shock written across his face. 

"Wrong brother," Remus blurted, then couldn't stifle a giggle. "Sorry, Regulus..."

"Wrong brother?" Regulus asked. "What, you meant to -- "

"Shut up, Regulus," Sirius growled. Regulus, still dazed, licked his lips again. Remus tried to prop himself upright so that he could at least pull his knees to his chest and hide what that sight was doing to him. 

"You're lucky," Regulus said to his brother, who snarled.

"Shut up -- "

"No, I mean it," the younger Black said, and Remus noticed he was breathing shallowly, and his face was flushed more than was allowable by alcohol alone. Sirius was panting, a little, and Remus noticed him shift uncomfortably. 

A second shocked look passed over Regulus' face, and Sirius backed away, against the sofa. Regulus turned to him, accusingly.

"You liked it, didn't you?" he asked. 

"Don't be an ass," Sirius said, but Remus could see what Regulus had discovered. Sirius had enjoyed seeing him kiss Regulus.

"You don't even trust me with that," Regulus pouted.

"Will you stop bloody saying that!" Sirius exploded. "I don't see why you even think that! I trust you with all sorts of things. I'd trust you with Remus if he -- "

"What?" Remus asked sharply.

"I didn't mean that," Sirius muttered.

"Didn't you?" Regulus taunted.

"I just meant...if I thought that would make you believe me..." Sirius rubbed his jaw and let his head fall back on the cushions. "I'd trust you. With our secret. With him. It's not like he's something I own and I can give away, though. He's not a puppy."

He seemed to find this outrageously funny, and began to snicker. Regulus turned and met Remus' eyes, and the other two stared at each other while Sirius continued to laugh. After a while, Remus realised both of the brothers were watching him.

"How about it then, Moony?" Sirius asked, suddenly grave. "Sound like something you'd mind?"

"No," Remus whispered. "I don't think so at all..."

Sirius crawled forward then, cupping one large hand over Remus' cheek and kissing him, Remus propped on his elbows, Sirius holding himself up precariously with one hand. He pulled Remus upright, then backed away, glancing at Regulus -- who was watching them with hungry eyes.

Remus shivered when Sirius whispered "Let me show you how it's done" to Regulus, who nodded, eyes still on Remus' face. Sirius crawled up onto the sofa.

"Come here," he said, and Remus grinned, finally managing to push himself to his feet. Regulus touched his thigh as he passed, a quick caress, and Remus sucked in a sudden deep breath. Sirius laughed, low and deep. 

"Fool for a Black, hmm?" he asked, as Remus straddled his lap, angling his head down for a kiss. 

"Might be," Remus answered against his lips. He felt Regulus fumble his way up on the cushions next to them, and a warm hand on the back of his neck in addition to the two Sirius had on his waist. Sirius' face was pushed away, and Regulus kissed him; Sirius laughed, and pushed back, and Regulus sprawled backwards on the couch. 

"Share nicely," Remus murmured, as Sirius bucked up against him, hips moving slowly, a little erratically, as they worked together to find a rhythm. Sirius moaned low, and Remus turned to look to one side as Regulus propped himself up again. As if scolding him, Sirius nipped his neck just above his shirtcollar. 

Regulus kissed him again, while Sirius' lips were still on his neck, and Remus thought he was probably going to die right there, which was all right. And then he would go to hell, which considering how good his death was going to be, was a fair trade too. 

Sirius' hands -- it had to be Sirius' -- were between them now, cupping and rubbing and fumbling with buttons and zips, and for a few chaotic moments they wrestled and rearranged themselves; Remus felt four hands push him off and upright, open his shirt and strip off his trousers. He bent, nuzzling Sirius' face, to help him off with his own, while Regulus' fingers roamed over his neck and back, rubbing small, tantalising circles on his skin. 

Then Sirius was grinning, beckoning him down again, and Remus turned; Sirius kissed his neck and rested his hands on Remus' thighs as he murmured a charm, while Regulus placed a hand flat on his chest, almost possessively, and said soft reassurances as Sirius pushed inside him. 

Regulus' hand slid down, slowly; Sirius began to move, just as teasingly, and Remus happily cursed the Black penchant for drawing things out as long as possible. Regulus didn't seem to be able to stop kissing him, his mouth just a trifle smaller than Sirus', lips a little thicker. Sirius was moaning, making small urgent noises, and Remus gasped against Regulus' mouth when Regulus' fingers finally found his cock and closed around it, stroking clumsily at first, then with gaining confidence. Two pairs of broad, clever hands, two mouths, two nearly identical soft moans -- 

Sirius bit hard when he came, and Remus arched, shuddering with his own orgasm, falling back against Sirius. When he opened his eyes, Regulus was staring at them in fascination, his hand still cupping Remus carefully.

"We left him out," Sirius mumbled, against his neck. 

"That can be fixed," Remus answered, pulling away slowly. Sirius grunted, but he didn't move as Remus pushed Regulus back on the couch, propped against one arm, and curled up naked against Regulus' body. He slipped a hand down over the erection straining at his clothes, and smiled. 

"Trust us?" he asked, and Regulus nodded. Remus undid his zip and pushed his trousers down a little, freeing what looked like a painfully ready erection. He slid a thumb gently over the head, and then stroked the tips of his fingers down the underside. Regulus gasped, voice just slightly higher than Remus was used to. 

"Please," the other boy begged, and Remus nibbled his earlobe as he stroked, curling one leg up over Regulus', keeping him from moving too much. It didn't take long for Regulus to tense and cry out, and Remus snickered as he gasped "Sorry, sorry" when he came.

"Messy," he scolded teasingly. "Just like Sirius."

Regulus, eyes closed, a blissful smile on his lips, laughed a little. Remus felt a weight on his hip and shoulder, and Sirius was draped over him, looking down past him at his brother.

"S'like watching you and me," he said, in Remus' ear, and Remus felt the nudge of a renewed erection against the back of his thigh. Sirius moved lazily, and Remus kissed and tasted Regulus' skin, a little tang of salt on it, while Sirius slid a hand down to keep them steady. Sirius came with a soft sigh, easily and quickly, just as Regulus' breathing slowed. 

Remus, curled against one Black brother with the other lying sated on top of him, buried his face in Regulus' neck and fell soundly asleep.

***

"Never again," were the first words out of Sirius' mouth the next morning.

They'd managed to wake and stumble back to their dorms, sometime in the night, still half-drunk and with their clothing rumpled and badly done-up; they'd fallen into the wrong beds, and after they came back, Sirius must have realised the mistake and crawled into his own, curling around Remus. Remus had woken to find Sirius sitting against the headboard, fingers nervously knotted together.

"Hmm?" he asked, before the memories of the night before came back to him. Along with a mild hangover. "Ow."

"What happened last night," Sirius said. 

"Yeah?"

"We're not going to talk about it ever again."

Remus buried his face in the pillow. "Mkay."

"Seriously, Moony."

"I said okay."

"You do realise what we did?"

Remus rolled back over to look up at him. "You fucked me through the couch, and I fucked your brother through the couch. More or less."

"I'm not denying it wasn't good -- "

"You're not?" Remus asked. "That's good, because it was bloody great."

"For you, maybe."

"Don't lie to yourself, Sirius," Remus said, shifting over a little more to rest his head in the crook of Sirius' bent leg, where it met his hip. "You liked watching me touch him. You like hearing me talk about it now," he added, nuzzling the bulge in Sirius' pyjamas. 

"It can't happen again."

"Mmm," Remus said, as Sirius' leg unbent, and he slouched back a little. He slid the pyjamas down, caressing him as he went. "Once was enough."

"Enough?" Sirius asked, curiously, just before his breath hitched. Remus grinned and kissed his stomach, then the head of his cock, tongue licking out to wet it.

"Enough to remember on," he said, sucking the head into his mouth. Sirius moaned, and he leaned back. "What if Regulus wants to do it again?"

Sirius twined his fingers in Remus' hair, and he took the hint; the other boy moaned and bucked up into his mouth, and Remus put his tongue to better use than talking. 

"If....umm....Regulus wants to," he moaned, "I could -- fuck -- watch -- yeah -- "

Remus grinned and swallowed the hot rush in his mouth, sitting back.

"Fool for a Black," he murmured, as Sirius curled up around him.

Clearly if one brother could be convinced by a blowjob, two ought to be no trouble at all....


	45. The Way It Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius knows how it started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NC-17 (Sirius/Remus/James)  
> Warnings: None.

This is the way it started.

James and Sirius play off each other, always have and always will. They're the perfect pair of mischief makers, the golden boys, the two everyone knows. But sometimes when you know someone so perfectly, when you think their thoughts and know when you're going to look up from a test and meet their eyes -- you crave difference.

And you start to notice the brown-haired boy when other boys are noticing girls, when your partner in crime goes off after some redheaded skirt who won't give him the time of day. Perfectly natural, that's the reason you're not interested in the girls who look at you and giggle behind their quills. You'd rather be playing pranks. That's why when James does go haring off after Lily, Sirius finds Remus and talks to him and torments him the way friends do to each other when they're sixteen. 

Sirius hadn't noticed that Remus, much as he hates his own skin, is graceful in it, almost more so than James or himself. Unconsciously, when they're in Hogsmeade, he walks the curb-part of the pavement, upright and balanced. When he sits on the grass reading, his back is perfectly straight, head bowed, hair cutting a line across his cheek. Muggle style is long hair, even on boys, though Sirius still cuts his short, because James cuts _his_ short, though Sirius has never thought consciously about this. 

He starts to notice Remus, and never does get around to noticing girls. Remus has, though. He and James pass girly magazines back and forth, and he once asked out one of the Ravenclaw girls on a bet and got to put his hand up her shirt. 

But then Remus does seem to notice him, too.

And then one night they're sitting on the bed talking about Quidditch after lights out, curtains charmed to block their voices because Peter is studying and James wants to sleep. And somehow the conversation turns around to girls and sex and wanking and without either one of them knowing how, it's suddenly _Remus oh_ and _Sirius_ and now there's no real reason to bother with girls, because anyway girls don't know how to do it right. 

And it's Remus' mouth and Remus' hands and arse and cock and it's so, so good Sirius can't quite stand it sometimes. 

James knows. Of course James knows, how could he not, and anyway Sirius has never known how to be discreet. James knows, he just doesn't want to discuss it, doesn't want to see it. Peter might know, but nobody really cares what Peter knows.

And then James asks one day. _What's it like._ Sirius thinks it's voyeurism because obviously James isn't getting any from Lily, who hates his guts. 

Sirius thinks he's joking too, and won't tell him for the longest time. 

Which was stupid really.

That's his first thought when he hears Remus' voice, low and even, and sees Remus sitting crosslegged on his bed while James sits on the trunk at the foot and listens, arms on the footboard, chin on arms. Listens to Remus tells him exactly what it feels like. 

And Sirius can't shake the image of Remus with his low voice and perfect mouth saying those things to James who is practically him, and yet not, and it'd be like watching himself if James wanted to -- 

He stops because of course James would never want to. But the next time they're kissing and touching and _Oh yes a little more_ Sirius asks the graceful brown-haired boy what he'd think of James if James tried to make a move on him and Remus laughs and says Why would James try that on me? 

But that's not the question I asked Sirius says and Remus says He's not you.

But he looks like me come on Moony what would you say?

And Remus suddenly tumbles to the thought and says You fancy seeing me and him?

Sirius can't quite look at him so he looks away and Remus laughs and says Pervert and undoes his flies and doesn't answer until after Sirius is breathless and sleepy and then he says I'd do it if you were along. 

Both of us? Sirius asks, and Remus nods on top of him, oh the nights they've fallen asleep this way. 

Both of you. 

The mechanics of it are enough to interest Sirius into staying up long after Remus has fallen asleep, thinking. 

But of course James knew that. Because the next morning James says to him D'you think Moony'd let me -- 

Before he can finish Sirius is nodding and answering But only if I'm along.

Which seem to be the magic words because right then and there in the middle of the dormitory James flushes bright scarlet red. Their eyes meet and because they've always been the pair, the ones who know each other's thoughts, it's easy to just assume that at dinner James is going to put a sleeping potion in Peter's cup and later tonight Sirius is going to invite James into Remus' bed. 

Remus, who is linked to Sirius in much more subtle ways, is not told. 

So that when he looks up over the edge of his book and finds two dark-haired heads peering at him, he is momentarily a little confused. 

Sirius pushes James forward a little with a hand on his back and James tips Remus' book down further and kisses him, hesitantly. 

Remus, while confused, is not an idiot. 

His fingers tremble while they're closing the book and putting it aside and pressing on James' bare chest -- No need to wear anything more than necessary, Sirius had said, This is a seduction after all. Sirius watches with unconcealed approval as a boy with dark curly hair kisses his Remus. 

James and Sirius have always shared everything. So have Remus and Sirius, at least since the start of sixth year, and now see how the circle is complete because Remus and James are sharing a hell of a kiss. 

Sirius bends to kiss the back of James' neck and feels Remus slide down on the bed, James with him. Oh the sounds James makes as their hips fit together and oh the look in Remus' eyes over James' shoulder, right at him, curious and hungry. 

Sirius puts his big broad hands on James' hips, moving him, James protesting and already bucking but Sirius pins him gently to the bed, sliding over him to kiss him into obedience. 

Remus' eyes are no longer hungry. They are devouring. And his shirt is half-off and his hair is disordered and Sirius shifts, pulling him up with one hand under his shoulderblades, until it is Sirius facing Remus and James behind Remus; Remus' hand in his trousers and James' knuckles brushing his stomach as he undoes Remus' and undressing is a hurried mass of hands and wriggling legs and then -- 

Wait Remus gasps and Sirius realises that James is about to fuck him. James, you precocious bastard, Sirius growls. 

Remus smiles against his shoulder at the obscenity as Sirius takes a moment to teach James some necessary truths about what you ought to do before trying to bugger your best friend but then Oh god oh god.

James.

Remus is breathing short and quick and James is moving against his body making their bodies move against Sirius, who can see. 

Everything.

And feel Remus' body thrusting against his and feel the tips of James' fingers on Remus' hips and it's better than he'd hoped. So much better.

So much better that Remus is biting his neck, careful not to break the skin but not too careful, so much better that Sirius thrusts and bucks too. So much better that James is gasping and moaning and trying to get even closer, to push deeper, while Remus begs Please James more please.

So much better that James comes with a moan and a cry and Remus kisses Sirius hungrily and Sirius brings him brings them both over the edge with his hands, and every minute of the time the two of them touch and kiss, James can see it all. 

My god, Remus says against his cheek. 

Sirius has a moment a brief moment of fear that somehow for all the practice they've had James is _already better_ than he is or ever will be but then James kisses Remus' neck and says Ta, mates. 

And Remus is so busy trying to crawl inside Sirius' skin that he doesn't answer so Sirius says Ta, James, and lets James curl close to Remus his Remus and James falls asleep and Remus falls asleep and Sirius thinks he's going to have to try to commit every detail to memory because watching James and Remus fuck was so good. But it should not be repeated, just in case he loses the one thing he needs more than anything else in the world. 

In his sleep Remus curls his fingers around Sirius' hip, frowning at the feel of a body on either side of him. He pushes James away, just a little, and Sirius is irrationally glad.


	46. After Dinner Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius share everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: NC-17 (Remus/Bill/Sirius)  
> Warnings: None.

When they'd been young they were part of a gang of boys, but after everything it turned out that only Remus and Sirius were left. 

Despite losing James to time and Peter to darkness, their boyhood bonds hadn't dissolved; it left Padfoot and Moony in an odd partnership made stranger by the fact that they shared a bed, as well. 

It seemed they shared quite a lot -- meals, duties around Grimmauld Place, clothing -- always a little too big on Remus, though his clothes seemed to fit Sirius flawlessly, if rather snugly. Still, no one ever seemed to mind seeing the solid, slim outline of Sirius' body under his clothes. 

They shared everything. 

So when Remus decided to seduce Bill Weasley, who obviously for his own good needed to realise he didn't even like girls, let alone want to marry one -- when Remus decided he would seduce Bill Weasley, neither hesitated over Sirius coming along for the adventure.

It was after the children had gone back to school; the middle of autumn, early October. Bill had only been by to make a report, but Remus had asked him to stay to dinner. Sirius was cooking, something he'd learned how to do to relieve the tedium and torment of living in Grimmauld Place again.

They drank butterbeer in the kitchen while Sirius cooked, cooling off from the heat of the oven and stove; they had wine with dinner after collars had been loosened and sleeves rolled up in that same heat. By the time they moved with coffee from the kitchen table to the sitting room, Bill was just drunk enough not to notice how close Remus was when he dropped down next to him on the couch. Sirius sat on the arm of a chair, gravely contemplating them. 

"Good dinner," Bill said truthfully, resting one hand on his stomach and leaning back. His head encountered Remus' arm, and he adjusted himself so that it fit in the arch of his neck, cradling his head gently. 

"Glad you enjoyed it," Sirius replied. 

"We both did," Remus put in. Bill felt his fingers smoothing the hair at his temple, idly. He felt he ought to say something about this, but he couldn't for the life of him think of what. 

"Of course our motives were less than pure," Sirius put in. Bill blinked at him.

"Impure dinner motives?" he blurted.

"No," Remus said, breath warm on his ear. "They were more of the after-dinner variety."

"We were going to seduce you," Sirius finished. "If that's all right with you."

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but found he didn't really want to. And he realised, as Remus' other hand slipped down his thigh, that the idea of being seduced by the pair of them had aroused him in obvious ways. 

"We thought it might be an education," Remus said, kissing the sharp edge of his jaw. Sirius was still watching them with the dark-eyed calm of a Zen master.

"For who?" Bill asked, lifting his chin just slightly to give Remus a better angle. Remus' hand stroked his erection through his trousers, even as his other arm hoisted him off the couch. Sirius stood fluidly as he did, meeting him, tongue pressing into his mouth, firm body warm against Bill's, erection straining at the tight jeans he wore. 

"All of us, if we're lucky," Remus said behind him, kissing Sirius over his shoulder. He nuzzled Bill under his earlobe, licking along the line of his neck. "Wouldn't you say, Sirius?"

Sirius had slipped his hand between Bill's legs, pressing gently. "Fancy a debauchery, Bill?"

Bill moaned in reply, and buried his face in Sirius' neck. He was unused to the smooth flatness of their bodies or the rough, tight grip of their hands, but it felt too good for him to care much.

He found something stiff beneath his lips, and explored the base of Sirius' neck with his tongue, and the buckled leather. 

Bill lifted his eyes to Sirius', suddenly; Sirius grinned and hooked a thumb under the collar around his own neck. "Never leave the house without ID," he said softly. He glanced back at Remus, who was staring at the leather strap with liquid brown eyes. 

"It never comes off," Remus said, a trifle hoarsely. Bill felt himself being gently propelled through the hallway, past stairs, into a ground-floor room. Hands undressed him, undressed each other around him, lips grazing his cheek, chin, collarbone, shoulderblades, until he opened his eyes and found himself standing, weak-kneed, with Remus Lupin's arm around his waist and Remus Lupin's cock pressing against him and Sirius Black, naked except for a leather strip around his neck, kneeling in front of him. 

"Still keen on a bit of sin?" Sirius asked, and Bill nodded wordlessly, watching as Sirius' tongue darted out, wetting his lips before stroking tantalisingly across the head of his cock. 

"Easy," Remus murmured in his ear, as he stiffened and moaned. Sirius lapped at him again, and Remus had to hold him tightly to keep his back from arching and overbalancing him. Sirius steadied his hips, and slipped his mouth over Bill's aching erection, humming softly. They kept him from bucking against Sirius' mouth, using strong hands, muscular arms. When Sirius finally sat back, Bill sagged onto the bed, hand already reaching downward, wanting release -- 

Remus caught him by the wrist and Bill whined, frustrated, as Sirius stopped his other hand. Then Sirius was slipping onto the bed next to him, bodies thrusting together roughly, and Remus was behind him, moving in time with him, telling him in his ear how long they'd planned this, how perfect he was. 

There was a spell, murmured low, and a slick warmth spreading through him. Bill realised Remus had lifted his hips slightly, and was slowly pressing against him, inside him, Merlin...

Remus' words became incoherent as he bucked, steadying Bill with his hands, pushing him gently with each thrust against Sirius. Sirius was talking, too, not to him but about him to Remus, who moaned into the skin of his shoulder.

Bill was barely conscious of Sirius' hand on his cock, stroking him; too distracted by the feeling of Remus thrusting inside him, leaving bruises from his hold on his hips. He felt Sirius take his hand and guide it to his own cock, and he tried to keep a rhythm but Remus was moving so quickly and Sirius was saying yes, there, please and Bill was in the middle of an electrical exchange of pleasure that was going to kill him if he didn't...oh...

Remus came a short second after he and Sirius did, breathing hard as he rested his face against the back of Bill's neck. When they had all had a moment to relax, and indeed sleep seemed to be becoming more appealing, Remus pushed himself up over Bill's shoulder, kissing Sirius deeply, tongues twining.

As Remus settled back behind him, Bill sleepily heard him murmur, "I can taste you in his mouth..."


End file.
